


Right Off the Bat

by hillaryschu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Baseball, Coaches, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Online Relationship, Pining, Twitter, You've Got Mail - AU, a boatload of GoT/ASoIaF characters that I didn't want to tag individually, little league
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillaryschu/pseuds/hillaryschu
Summary: to be read in 90s Movie Trailer RomCom VoiceMeet Jaime. He used to be the most infamous player in Major League baseball but a career-ending injury brought him back into the family business. He hates it. What he doesn’t hate is coaching the best Little League team in Kings Landing.Meet Brienne. After her father’s death, she left behind a successful career in women’s competitive fastpitch to start over. She’s trying to balance life and love in a new city, all while coaching a down-and-out Little League team.In a world where everyone is looking to connect, Jaime and Brienne discover the best way to meet someone is to never meet at all. What they don’t realize, is that they already have.This fanfic exchange season, follow along with Brienne and Jaime as they take to one another on Twitter and battle on the ballfield. Then find out what happens when those worlds collide.(a You’ve Got Mail AU)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 272
Kudos: 251
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Play Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theworldunseen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/gifts).



> Yay! Fic exchange! I hope y'all like this, but I especially hope that [theworldunseen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen)does! I chose two of her 3 prompts:
> 
> \- any riff on a you’ve got mail AU (we hate each other IRL but are anonymously communicating and actually love each other!)  
> \- anything even slightly involving baseball 
> 
> The characters I chose to be kids in this fic versus adults...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ It's kind of inconsistent. I also use a mix of real-world US modern stuff and fake Westerosi-named things. 
> 
> Surely there are a few details about baseball, especially Little League, that are wrong (like number of games per week, etc) but I just kind of did what suited the story. I am also lucky to have an incredible beta who knows a ton more than me about baseball and baseball Twitter. She's also super thoughtful and generous and everything good. Thanks, [brynnmck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck)!
> 
> I had no intention of my fic being THIS long, but, well, here we are.

Jaime weaves in and out of traffic, racing through the narrow streets of Flea Bottom to get to the ballfield before it’s too late. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he should have taken a cab there. His car is flashy even for Old Gate, the swanky neighborhood on the north side of King's Landing where he lives. Jaime bought the car right before his last season—using his signing bonus to purchase the red Castamere with cash. He steps on the gas a little, taking the next corner faster than he should. 

He checks the rearview mirror. Bakeries and bodegas blur past, reflected across the surface of his aviators. He shakes his head a little. This has got to be one of the most ridiculous things he’s done in his adult life. But Jaime needs a new shortstop and just any player won’t do—the Lannister Lions are league and district champs, several years running. It seems insane, but Jaime's got intel on this kid and he’s going to check her out. He had found out from his brother Tyrion, who had found out from his friend Jorah, that Jorah’s young cousin, Lyanna Mormont, might be interested in playing on Jaime’s Little League team. Apparently, she plays ball with her older sisters in a park at the foot of Rhaenys Hill on most Saturday mornings. Jorah said they were usually there until about ten and it was quarter til. Jaime can’t miss her so he speeds up.

He spots the diamonds, throws his car into park, and jogs to the bleachers. When he takes a seat, he realizes he’s not alone. There’s another man sitting at the end of the stands. He’s tall and blond, taking notes in a large folio like a coach would use. Jaime quickly spots Lyanna on the field. Tiny even for a nine year old, she is a natural athlete—throwing the ball with perfect form and accuracy. He keeps his eyes mostly on her, occasionally stealing irritated looks at the man with the notes, who also seems to be evaluating the miniature infielder. 

_What in the hell?_

Lyanna and her sisters switch it up and the littlest Mormont steps to home plate. She takes a couple of practice swings, looking like a pro—like a shrunk-down version of her much-older sister, Dacey, who plays for the Bear Island Cubs. Lyanna cracks a line drive between second and third base and the man on the other end of the bleachers turns his head to follow the ball. Only, it’s _her_ head. It’s a woman. When Jaime can see more of her face, he realizes that not only is it a woman, but he knows who she is.

What is Brienne Tarth doing here? Why isn’t she off at spring training? 

In profile, she looks just like her father. Selwyn Tarth was one of the best players the sport ever saw and Brienne is pretty singular in her own right. A freshman starter and eventual team captain at Storm’s End College, she went on to be a star player for the Stormlands Thunderbolts for years. She is a great catcher but an even better hitter—her long arms giving her a wide swing and her legs capable of generating a ton of power. So why is Tarth in King’s Landing, sitting on rusted metal bleachers in a bad part of town, watching a couple of kids play ball? _Women’s softball isn’t so desperate as to be scouting pre-teens, is it?_ Jaime thinks.

“Brienne Tarth,” he calls out. She swivels fully in her seat and looks at him with narrowed eyes, clearly suspicious of being recognized. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” She seems genuinely confused, but she doesn’t ask kindly. It’s a little prickly and Jaime sits more upright.

“You don’t? Oh,” he sighs. “I’m heartbroken. I’m wounded.” Jaime clutches his chest in feigned insult. He is, of course, actually insulted. He knows who she is, shouldn’t she know who he is? Not that Jaime _particularly_ follows her career—he just knows a lot about sports and is surprised to see her, that’s all. He’s not a “fan” or anything. Either way, his pride takes a hit when she doesn’t recognize him.

He reaches toward her, offering his left hand to shake. “Jaime Lannister.”

“Oh! I- I know who _you_ are. I just...why are you here?” After she recovers from her initial surprise, a sour look takes over her face. Ah, yes, his lovely reputation follows him everywhere—even a decade later, to a rundown park on the wrong side of town.

As he watches her, unblinking, a fast flush of color sweeps across her cheeks, connecting her freckles together into a sea of pink. In person he can see how exceptionally unusual-looking she is. Her size doesn’t come across on tv or in print. Her lips are huge and her nose has obviously been broken at least once. She’s not what anyone would call pretty (or even handsome), but—oh!—her eyes. Her eyes are wide and a most unnatural blue, framed in pale, silvery lashes. And they are honed in on Jaime—one a judge and the other, the jury—evaluating “The Kingslayer,” and, of course, finding him lacking. He’s momentarily thrown by it all, but recovers quickly.

“I actually asked you first.” He says it somewhat playfully, but he’s feeling a little like he’s poised for a fight.

“I’m here to see if that girl wants to play for my Little League team.” 

“ _Your_ Little League team?” Jaime laughs, incredulous. “Why are you even in King's Landing?”

“My dad died. I needed a change.” She looks away, off toward nothing.

“Shit, yes, I knew that. I’m sorry.” Fuck.

“Yes, well, thank you. So what _are_ you doing here? The _infamous_ Jaime Lannister?” Her voice drips with condescension and Jaime kind of loves it. _Bring it on._

“Of course. Hmm. Well, obviously I don’t play ball anymore,” he holds up his prosthetic right hand and waves it around a little. “I’m just here to watch some quality children’s softball. Is that not a normal thing for a grown man to do on a Saturday morning?” Her face is priceless. She looks infuriated and exhausted and confused all at once. Bless, this is fun. “Weirdly, I’m also here to see if she wants to play for me.”

“ _You_ coach Little League?” Is that an insult? A compliment? It’s exceedingly unclear.

“I do. My kids are the best of the best. They’re league champs and district champs, and all the oldest players are on All-Stars.” Jaime tries to say it with a tone that might maintain his upper hand, but he’s so proud of the kids he coaches. They make him soft and he knows he’s gushing.

“Okay. Am I supposed to be impressed by that? They're kids. They play to have fun and learn about discipline, dedication, and teamwork.” She looks like she means that.

“Oh my god. You actually mean that. How sweet. Virtuous.” He laughs a little. It’s petty as hell but he doesn’t care. She turns away from him and he feels victorious.

The Mormonts seem like they are wrapping up. Brienne stands to approach them, and holy fuck she’s tall. She towers over Jaime, still rooted in spot on the bleacher, and she reminds him of a character out of a fantasy novel. Glowing eyes and platinum hair, shoulders as wide as that umpire’s, Sandor Clegane. Something in him gives a little and he decides not to fight her over the young athlete. He can’t tell if he’s doing it to be nice or to seem too good for it all. To throw Brienne a bone because of her weariness at the mention of her dad or to show her up and keep her guessing about their odd little introduction. Something about her makes him want to take care of her and obliterate her all at the same time. It’s highly entertaining.

Jaime slips away without another word to Brienne, although she doesn’t seem to notice, absorbed as she is with Lyanna—down on one knee, talking animatedly, smiling a big crooked smile. It’s a little much, if he’s honest. He loves the kids on his team, but he tries not to coach them in a dorky, After-School-Special kind of way. 

Starting the trek to his home across the hill, he keeps a much slower pace—winding past the same small row houses and storefronts before crossing The Street of The Sister and leaving Flea Bottom behind. He takes it all in—the neighborhoods getting nicer and greener as he moves through increasingly wealthy blocks of streets. He pulls up to his limestone townhouse on Balerion Boulevard. The towering tree out front casts dappled midday light across the arched windows and large front door. He throws on his flashers and locks the car, before sending a text to his garage. Leaving the car at the curb for the attendant to pick up, he trudges up the steps of his historic home.

Jaime drops his things in a pile on the floor of the foyer, heads straight to the kitchen, and pulls a container of food out of the fridge. He checks the label: _SATURDAY LUNCH - Chicken breast with haricot verts and herbed quinoa. Heat in the oven at 350deg for 20 min or microwave uncovered for 3 min_. He rolls his eyes, throws the meal in the microwave and grabs a beer. He takes a sip and leans against the counter, watching the timer tick down. The microwave’s LCD bids him “BON APPETIT!” and Jaime realizes it’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to him all day. He eats the unevenly warmed, professionally-prepared meal standing at his kitchen island. 

When he’s finished, dishes placed in the sink, still covered in bits of food, he grabs another beer and heads to his den. He has a television in his living room, and a comfortable-enough couch, but he prefers to spend time in the den. He feels less alone in there, since it seems a room built for solitude: the weirwood desk, an unmovable presence; shelves of books are conversations in wait; his soft leather couch, physical and enveloping. He settles in.

The game is on—the Crownlands Classic: King's Landing Kingsguard versus the King's Landing Gold Cloaks. Jaime loves watching this matchup, as bittersweet as it is. He misses almost everything about playing ball but this game especially: the energy of the crowd, whether at home or at the Gold Cloaks’ Dragonpit Field, the cheers and jeers of the fans, signing autographs, _winning_ (which the Kingsguard usually did). But the thing he misses most is being a part of a team. All the other stuff had felt temporary at best and some of it actually hadn't been so great—but the guys? His team? They'd been everything. They'd supported him through the unfortunately enduring Kingslayer scandal. They'd laughed with him through the endless rumors about who he was dating (no one of any significance). They'd been by his side through his injury and recovery. They'd been his friends—and his family, when his real family was often absent and neglectful.

Gods he misses it. 

“Gods, I miss that,” he says to his TV, to the empty room. 

Jaime grabs his phone and pulls up Twitter. It looks like most of the accounts he follows are talking about the game—he really only goes on the app for baseball-related content so that’s no surprise. He keeps his identity hidden online, so he can just enjoy chatting without getting dragged into the past or dealing with any of his few remaining fans. It’s exhausting. He is thumb-flicking content up the screen and he stops when he sees that one of his favorite accounts, @SapphireSlugger, is live-tweeting the game. This should be good. The poor sap is a Gold Cloaks fan. They almost never beat the Kingsguard but they’ve been playing especially bad since losing their hot-shot pitcher last season.

**Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 21min  
**The King's Landing Gold Cloaks are taking the field. Mandon Moore is stepping in to relieve Edric Storm at the top of the seventh. Let’s see if the newcomer can keep the momentum set by Storm.**

> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min   
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Momentum? You can’t possibly think there’s even a remote chance that the Gold Cloaks will win. Their bullpen is a joke.** # **lolGoldCloaks**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **Of course you support The Kingsguard. It’s totally fine to be a casual sports fan. Hang out in the bleachers! Drink some beers! Chat with your friends, take a selfie! Don’t worry about the professional ball game going on in front of you.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 11min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Casual sports fan? If you only knew. And I’m sorry you hate winners so much.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 8min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **Winners? The Kingsguard are showy. They’re The Man. They’re big money. Anyone could win with big money behind them. I support the hometown team. The team of and for the people.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 6min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **The losers. Gotcha. I understand perfectly.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 5min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **The Gold Cloaks are so much more interesting than The Kingsguard! Everyone loves an underdog.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 3min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Not me. I like champions. I like overdogs.**

Shit, he thinks, after hitting send. Is that weird? It’s weird. Overdog sounds dirty somehow. He’s not sure how, but it definitely does. It sounded funny in his head. Anyway, Jaime gets it. He understands why people don’t like teams or athletes that just win all the time. But fuck if he’s leaving a conversation without defending how badass his old team is. When SapphireSlugger doesn’t respond, Jaime doesn’t know if they were just upset that the Gold Cloaks lost or if overdogs truly _was_ too odd to come back from.

————————————————

The ball whizzes across the field and Brienne can see the whole scene playing out before it even happens: the first and second basemen colliding and tumbling to the ground, the ball rolling away forgotten. For the fifth time in the last hour, she wonders why she _ever_ agreed to do this. Getting this ragtag team of kids ready to play even one inning of baseball is going to be a challenge, let alone making it through the whole season.

But of course she had said yes when Catelyn asked her to coach her kids’ flailing Little League team. Brienne says yes to almost everything—an endless need to please in order to make up for the fact that she lacks in other areas. Using her generosity and loyalty to apologize for her size and awkwardness. It’s an instinct she’s had her entire life. Besides all that, Catelyn Stark was an old family friend and had been extremely supportive through Brienne’s relocation to King's Landing. And she had flat-out begged Brienne to do it. 

As the two fallen boys dust themselves off, Sansa Stark steps to the plate and clumsily raises her bat. She’s a pretty girl, with pale skin and long auburn hair, tell-tale signs that she’s Catelyn’s daughter. She’s tall and graceful for a twelve-year-old, but she’s not athletic like her younger sister, Arya, and she looks exceedingly out of place on the field—more of a dancer than a fielder. Arya herself is on the pitcher’s mound for today’s practice and she sends a slow, kind lob sailing past her sibling. She looks as disappointed as Sansa does at the lack of contact between the bat and ball.

Bran and Rickon, the two youngest Starks, are also on Brienne’s team. The sad thing is, the Starks are the best athletes she has besides Lyanna and a shy and smiley kid named Podrick Payne. Pod isn’t particularly great but he’s coachable, at least. The rest of the team is a mess of tripping feet, dropped balls, and nose-picking. The boy in left field keeps sitting down in the grass and looking for bugs. The kids are sweet but it seems clear most are being forced to play ball by concerned or overeager parents. 

Brienne has her work cut out for her and there’s a lot riding on her success. The League’s Board of Directors recently voted, 6-4, to downsize the league by one team in order to reallocate funding and streamline the season’s schedule. Whichever team finishes the season with the worst record will be disbanded and the players will be split across the remaining ten teams. The Starks are especially concerned, as it might mean scattering their kids across different teams. It’s part of the reason Cat sought Brienne out to coach this season. They just need to win enough games so that they don’t come in last place. Hopefully she can find a couple more good players before the first game of the season. And hopefully some of the other teams in the league are as hapless as hers?

Either way, at least coaching gives her _something to do_ here in King's Landing. She still feels a little like this life isn’t hers; the transition had been so fast. When her dad got sick last spring, Brienne had immediately dropped everything to be with him. The cancer spread quickly, already too far along, and they only had a couple of months together before he was gone. At first the grief swallowed her whole—her last living family member, and only support system, gone. When she finally dug herself out and thought she might be ready to return to her life, it didn’t feel like hers anymore. Playing pro ball had been everything she ever wanted, but now it just reminded her of him—of a childhood spent watching his home games from behind the Tarth Islanders’ dugout and watching away games on the small television set in her living room, nestled between her then-living mother and brother. 

Now she’s here. A 32-year-old woman, about to start a new job in a new city with no family—coaching a bunch of 9-12 year old outcasts who don’t know a bunt from a base hit. Feels fitting.

Brienne calls the team to home plate to wrap up the practice. As she’s heading infield, she notices Jaime Lannister standing along the third base fence. He’s watching the team, watching her. Tall and golden, he looks half a god. She can’t believe she hadn’t recognized him at first. He’s possibly the most beautiful man she’s ever seen in real life. He gives her a small and, she thinks, patronizing wave. Brienne jerks her head away—turning her attention back to her team. She gives the kids a pep talk while Cat hands out food. They're more interested in snacks than sports, and Brienne loses her audience while expounding on the importance of spending a little time every day practicing their skills. 

After the last kid shuffles off, stumbling as he waves good-bye, Brienne scans the field to make sure she’s clear to leave. She spots Jaime in the dirt lot, pulling bats and balls out of his car. She’s still baffled that he’s a coach. She’d always pictured Little League coaches like Walter Matthau—grumpy old men with hearts of gold, sneaking beers in the dugout. Jaime is definitely not that, with his purposely disheveled hair and tanned skin. He looks like a model for trendy athleisure wear, not a kids’ baseball coach. She walks over to her old beat-up hatchback coincidentally parked next to his ostentatious sports car.

“Hey, Coach.” Jaime really hits the hard ‘C’, his enunciation making it somehow sound like an insult. 

“Why were you watching us? Were you spying on me? On my team?”

He laughs—a big, unchecked guffaw. “Spying? On _that_ team? You must be delusional. Some of those kids wore jeans to practice.” It’s rude. He’s rude. But it doesn’t really sound _mean_ as much as incredulous and, well, she knows. She knows her team is kind of a joke. But she’s not going to back down, not from him—not from the Kingslayer. Someone with so little honor that they would stab their mentor in the back in order to advance their own career. She doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him—which would not be far, judging by his broad shoulders and the swell of his forearms. She gives her head a quick shake to clear it and pulls her mind away from his lean, taut muscles. _Gods, Brienne._

“They’re getting there,” she says with narrowed eyes. “And, again, it’s the experience that matters—despite whatever you think. I’m going to help these kids learn hard work and teamwork. They’ll make friends, have a good time. Get a little dirty, eat some snacks. You know, _childhood_. It seems like your team will just learn that winning is the only thing that’s important. Maybe you can raise a bunch of jocks and Mean Girls—people who would turn on their friends. Their heroes. Loyalty be damned. Maybe they’ll also master that sneer you wield for people you deem less than worthy. Sounds like a true masterclass in success.”

Jaime looks as dumbfounded as she feels. Brienne doesn’t think she’s ever talked to someone like that before. Usually she thinks of comebacks hours later. Laying in bed at night, she thinks of the perfect admonishing thing to say to the guy who cut in front of her at Starbucks. As a man exits the subway at Cobbler’s Square, Brienne thinks of how she could have stood up to him when he'd stolen the last seat out from under a pregnant woman. But she never says the right thing, at the right time. It should feel better than this, she thinks. 

Leaving Jaime standing there with his mouth hanging open and a bag of baseballs hanging over his shoulder, she climbs into her car. She puts her keys into the ignition and buckles her seatbelt, steadfastly ignoring his gaze that continues to follow her. Reaching into her bag, she pulls her phone out to check and see if there are any messages from Hyle. There are not.

When she'd left Storm’s End last month she'd left behind Hyle Hunt—her boyfriend of eight months. She had thought they would break up when she announced her move, but he hadn't suggested it and she hadn't been able to gather the nerve to end it. Hyle was only her second real boyfriend and while he was not, in any way, perfect, he _was_ interested in dating her (now, anyway, after being an absolute dick when they first met). And so, yeah, he likes her and it’s fine and she isn’t sure when another guy might come along who would see her as anything more than an overly-freckled, overly-large bore. Hell, _she_ only recently stopped seeing herself that way.

Brienne types out a simple “missing you!” text. She knows it’s only partially true but she hits send, anyway. He’s responded by the time she’s home and parking her car in the large underground garage of her new apartment complex.

> **Hyle:** i miss you making dinner. cooking sux. ;)
> 
> **Brienne:** Cooking for one isn’t very exciting, is it? I don’t have a good routine here, yet, so it’s hard. I’m still checking out different grocery stores and shops to see which has the best stuff. King's Landing is so huge. It’s intimidating!
> 
> **Hyle:** KL is too big. ooh - maybe i’ll order in. how’s work?
> 
> **Brienne:** I don’t start for months, Hyle. Practice starts in August, right before the kids go back to school. I have a meeting at the high school next week, though. I am kind of nervous about it.
> 
> **Hyle:** it’s just a hs coaching job. girls softball. you’ll be fine. 
> 
> **Brienne:** Softball and counselling. I’m also going to be a guidance counselor, remember? Anyway, I just got home. I should grab some dinner. 
> 
> **Hyle:** sweet. gonna play grand theft auto and order some wings. later.

She doesn’t bother to text good night. She knows he’s already put his phone down and moved on. She forces herself not to examine their exchange too closely and she heads to the kitchen. Waiting for the oven to preheat, she checks Twitter. Brienne isn’t much for social media—being not particularly social—but Baseball Twitter is its own thing. Without a lot of close friends, it’s been her main source of entertainment and companionship through her dad’s death and the big move. It’s made everything just a little easier.

Pulling up the app, the first tweet she sees is from @GoldenGlove79. They share a strong love of baseball, but argue over most every detail of the sport—from their favored teams to controversial calls by umps. She knows he respects her dad from some of the things he’s said. It makes her secretly smile. No one aside from a few friends knows that Brienne is SapphireSlugger, so GoldenGlove can’t make the connection that she’s Selwyn’s daughter.

He’d sent her a DM last month (surely he’s a _he_ , right?), checking in to see if she was okay. Her account had gone silent for a few days during her move—pretty uncharacteristic since she started her account a couple of years back. It was an unexpected gesture in a time when she really needed it, and they’ve been communicating more ever since

**Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 2h  
**It’s pizza + movie night with the nieces and nephews. This week's viewing is a "Rookie of the Year" / "The Sandlot" double feature. How old do kids have to be before they can watch Major League? Asking for a friend.**

Brienne smiles and taps the little heart under the tweet before replying.

> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger ·5min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **Maybe you could try A League of Their Own. That could be a good compromise.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 3min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Bless you. You just saved me from a week’s worth of texts with four preteens, trying to agree on next week’s film of choice.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger ·1min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **"You got yourself in the league. I got you on the train."**

GoldenGlove likes her tweet. She smiles and scrolls a bit more but she startles when the oven dings ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is Jaime's townhouse as I imagine it (the one in the middle)](https://assets.bwbx.io/images/users/iqjWHBFdfxIU/iyQU6xwxbezc/v0/1000x-1.jpg)
> 
> I'm planning to post a chapter a day until it's all up...but...uh...the last couple of chapters aren't done yet so there could be a day or two lapse (I'll note at the end of the previous chapter if that's going to be the case). 
> 
> Lastly, happy belated birthday to my prompter--I saw on Tumblr that it was earlier this week! 💕


	2. Steps Up to the Plate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our leads start practice for the season, have some random run-ins, and bond more over baseball Twitter.

Jaime leans on the chain link fence, watching the towering blonde coach wrap-up her second and—if what he sees is any indication—equally disastrous practice. She herds the gaggle of kids towards home and he wonders again how she came to be coaching this Little League team made up of oddballs and weirdos. He watches it descend into a minor chaos of watermelon-stained shirts, side conversations, and dirt-toeing. But, she has Lyanna now. And...is that Gendry Waters? How did Robert’s illegitimate kid end up on her team? Shireen Baratheon is playing for her, too. A team full of Baratheons. It feels like a deliberate attack on Jaime. 

This is just...not cool. He doesn’t like this at all. He feels huffy and childish about it.

He stayed up late the other night, watching everything he could find about Brienne Tarth on YouTube. The sports highlights were all what he already knew of her: strong and quick, smart and competitive. There was a clip of her yelling at an ump—pointing and gesticulating wildly, all up in the man’s space. That one was Jaime’s favorite. Her unfortunate face contorting in anger, fire shooting out of her blue eyes, the ump backing up as if terrified. 

There were other clips, too. There were bits of interviews, a feature on famous sports families, a vague news piece about some disciplinary action from uni that she was involved in. The camera liked Brienne a lot less when she didn’t have a bat in her hand or a catcher’s mask covering her face. She was awkward and stilted on film. Being interviewed, she tripped over words, ducked her face and shifted her body in her seat—seemingly trying to become invisible, or at least smaller, somehow. She talked with none of the passion she put into a line drive, none of the fury she showed that ump. She was simple and serious. Righteous and dull.

The thought nags the back of his mind: _if she is such a drag, why did he watch those videos for hours on end, unable to stop?_

Jaime pushes off the fence, irritated, and heads to his car to grab his equipment. He glances at his phone and sees a few missed texts. One is from Addam saying he’s running late. Surprise, surprise. His assistant coach has been a total basket case ever since he started dating his new boyfriend. Jaime thought it would have worn off by this point but Addam is still acting spacey and besotted. Jaime guesses that is what love does to you? He really wouldn’t know. 

There’s another text, too—this one from his sister. 

> **Cersei:** Dropping the kids off but not staying for practice. Have an engagement. Bring them home for me and get dinner together, will you? Something healthy. Robert is on a business trip. So he says. I should be home by their bedtime. 

Beautiful. Like he doesn’t have anything better to do. Actually, he doesn’t, but his sister not doing him the courtesy of asking still rankles. She consistently takes advantage of his love for his niece and nephew. Jaime is close to his brother’s twins, too, but Tytos and Genna have two functioning, available parents, whereas Jaime is often left to care for Cersei’s two youngest. He does way more than a typical uncle, often taking Myrcella and Tommen for days at a time. He signs report cards. He volunteers as a chaperone for field trips. He answers midweek calls begging him to pick the kids up after swim practice or science club because Cersei “lost track of time,” when really she was with a lover or had had too much to drink and couldn’t drive. 

Their father, Robert Baratheon, is even less available than Cersei. Robert is a Representative for the Crownlands with the federal government and he spends much of his time working. That is, if you consider voting down the party line, schmoozing diplomats, and fucking their wives “work.” He is almost never home and when he is, he and Cersei get in giant blow-up fights in front of the kids, sometimes about the kids. Their oldest son, Joffrey, is a nightmare. He’d been sent away to military school, but still manages to wreak havoc in the family from across the continent.

Nonetheless, Jaime is thankful for it, he guesses—in some small, relative way. He loves how much time he gets to spend with the kids and he actually loves coaching. After he hurt his hand and couldn’t play anymore, he wouldn’t leave the house for weeks on end. He watched old movies and hid in a fortress made of discarded takeout containers. It had been Tyrion who’d pulled him out. Convinced him to take over coaching the twins’ Little League team.

“Uncle Jaime!” Tommen screams, running to him, now, throwing his arms around Jaime’s thighs in a tight embrace. Myrcella is a few paces behind, holding a bag of gear. Their mother’s town car kicks up a cloud of dust as her driver makes a hasty retreat—racing off to whatever rendezvous Cersei has lined up for the afternoon. More sleek and expensive cars roll into the dirt lot next to the ball fields. The parents of the Lions have been petitioning the league to have the lot paved for ages. They have offered to pay for the whole thing themselves, but there seems to be a coordinated effort to thwart them. Jaime suspects Catelyn Stark is behind it.

Kids spill out of the cars, followed by attentive nannies or less attentive mothers, with their fancy picnic chairs and covert tumblers of wine, designer sunglasses perched on upturned noses. Come game-day, some of the dads and career moms will show—earpieces in, talking business instead of watching ball—but they aren’t ever here for practices. In addition to Jaime’s nieces and nephews, his team is made up of some Lannister cousins, a couple of Marbrands (including Addam’s son from his failed marriage), a few Kettleblacks, and other big-name King's Landing families. The kids are sometimes spoiled but they mostly have good hearts. The parents are another story but it’s okay because Jaime is good at charming them into behaving appropriately. 

He thinks, just now, how this is the best thing in his life besides his nieces and nephews. 

His job had been handed to him. Actually, that makes it seem as though he had a choice in the matter—he did not. Senior Executive Vice President of Sales is pretty much exactly as exciting as it sounds. He’s mostly a figurehead and he leans into that, hard. When he’s not on the field or sitting at his desk at Lannister Corp staring blankly out the windows over the skyline of King's Landing, he doesn’t have much to do. He works out, enjoys movies, and spends time with his family. Tyrion and Addam are his only friends, really. All of his ex-teammates are too busy still playing ball. He doesn’t date that much. As a 40 year-old, retired shortstop, no one really bugs him about it anymore, but during his pro days, there was always gossip about his dating life. One year he was even voted The Most Eligible Bachelor in Westeros, a title typically handed out to famous actors or musicians—more visible “celebrities.” Paparazzi followed him on first dates. Any woman who made it to a second date was talked up as the future Mrs. Lannister. But because of his career, he never really had much time for dating, and few women made it to a third date. 

Practice today goes great, even better than their first. The kids are playing smart and strong, especially his kin which makes him insanely proud. Tytos and Genna work a kind of twin-magic on the field. They seem to be able to anticipate what the other is going to do and are always ready to assist on a play. Myrcella is fast—faster than he remembered her being. Even Tommen, who last year was mostly afraid of the ball, gets some hits off of Addam’s pitches. He also found a shortstop—a kid named Josmyn Peckledon, who goes to school with Addam’s son Damon. 

After an hour of drills, Jaime calls the kids into the dugout. Despite Brienne’s insults from the other day, Jaime doesn’t just coach his kids to win. Respect for themselves and for the other members of their team is the main thing Jaime tries to drive home again and again. He knows how much sports can shape someone—save them. He talks to them about the upcoming season and the hard work he expects them to put in, and the pride he expects them to get out of it. Tyrion’s wife Tysha hands out snacks, while Addam gives the kids their fancy new Lannister Corporation-sponsored uniforms. The jerseys are a deep red, emblazoned with shiny gold lettering. 

The kids scarf down their weird dried veggie snacks and are shuffled back into Land Rovers and Lexuses. Myrcella, Tommen and the twins race ahead into the parking lot, giggling and sharing inside jokes that make no sense to the adults. Jaime walks alongside Tyrion and Tysha, checking his phone as they drag the equipment and coolers across the dirt lot. Tyrion catches Jaime with Twitter open and elbows him in the hip. 

“What is GoldenGlove69 up to these days?” he asks, the teasing clear in his voice.

“You know it’s ‘79, brother,” Jaime says, his patience for this running joke running thin.

“But 69 would be infinitely better—maybe you’d actually get a date out of it. Oh! That reminds me. I can’t believe I almost forgot. I discovered something interesting about that account you fanboy.”

“ _I_ discovered,” Tysha interjects, exactly as Jaime says, “I am not a _fanboy_.”

“No, no, of course not. Owning a t-shirt of a niche Twitter account is definitely not unusual. And, yes, sorry, Tysha was the one that found it out.”

“Found out _what_ , Tyrion?” 

“SapphireSlugger is a woman.”

“What?” Jaime’s frustration with Tyrion quickly shifts to genuine surprise. He looks between his brother and Tysha.

“Yes! I read an interview with her in _Westerosi Woman_ ,” Tysha exclaims excitedly.

“Well who is it, then?”

“It didn’t say. She stayed anonymous even in the article. I can send it to you!”

Jaime loads the gear into the boot of his car and pulls out the booster seat he keeps there for Tommen. He installs it and the kids climb into the back, arguing about what they want to listen to on the radio. Jaime puts on what _he_ wants, and pulls out into the busy streets of King's Landing. He swings through the High Sparrow Drive-thru and gets a couple of kids’ meals and a burger and fries for himself, before heading across the neighborhood to the enormous Baratheon estate perched upon Visenya's Hill. 

Despite it being explicitly against the rules, Jaime lets the kids eat their dinner while watching TV in the living room. _Cersei shouldn’t have a white couch if she’s so worried that they’ll get ketchup on it,_ he thinks. _Let the kids enjoy life a little._ Jaime hangs out at the kitchen island, reading the article in _Westerosi Woman_ and inhaling his double cheeseburger. The profile is short on any personal details aside from the woman having a long history of playing competitive sports and coming from a family of athletes. It talks about how she started doing Twitter just for fun, just for herself, but unexpectedly gained a bunch of followers. 

Fans and players alike started flocking to her for all of the analysis she put into her content—things like detailing the mechanics of a hit through overlays of launch angle and swing plane. She was sharing some of the most detailed spray charts in college softball, too, and people took notice, so she started to spend more time on it. She has a friend who’s a designer and she had him help create a brand, redesign the templates she uses for graphics, and develop a set of merch to sell. All profits from the sales go to The Evenstar All-Stars, a charity she started for underprivileged kids to attend sports camps.

Most of the article focuses on female athletes and the status of women's professional sports in Westeros. SapphireSlugger posts about men’s pro ball plenty but her passion is elevating women’s fastpitch. People send her highlight videos that she then shares on her account. She has featured many young women and men who have gone on to get college scholarships based on scouts following SapphireSlugger. 

Jaime is fascinated. It had never occurred to him that SapphireSlugger might be a woman. He's ashamed of himself for automatically assuming that the account was run by a man. He’s spent a lot of his life immersed in sexist sports culture, but that’s not an excuse. Jaime thinks back to all of the interactions they’ve had—DMs and replies—and wonders if he’s done or said anything weird based upon the assumption that she was a man. He may have called her “bro” once. He pulls up her account to see what she’s posted recently.

 **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 21min  
**The Islanders’** **Axell Florent showing that he’s the exception that proves the rule that left-handed batters fare worse against left-handed pitchers. He just got a triple off of Alfred Broome’s curve.**

> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Exception that proves the rule. That’s a saying that never made any sense to me. If there’s an exception it must not be a very good rule. Wouldn’t it be “the exception disproves the rule?” Or does it mean that you only even had to make up the rule because exceptions exist?**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Like, “Don’t admire your own home run.” If some ass does that, then would you say, “well, he’s the exception that proves the rule?” Meaning, look how shitty he is. That’s why we even have to make these kinds of rules.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **First of all: “Don’t admire your own home run” isn’t a real rule.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Sure it is, it’s just unwritten.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **But you just wrote it.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Well, I’m the exception that proves the rule.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  😐
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Egg on your face? I’m just pulling your leg—don’t have a cow! Hey, this is fun! It’s like shooting monkeys in a barrel.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **Oh, my god—what? Don’t shoot any monkeys! It’s fish, you shoot fish in a barrel.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **I thought fish were in a kettle.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **Do you need me to send help? Are you well?**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  **Come on, this is my best material! The cream of the crop.**
> 
> **Sapphire Slugger** @SapphireSlugger · 13min  
>  Replying to @GoldenGlove79  
>  **I’m sad for you.**
> 
> **Golden Glove** @GoldenGlove79 · 17min  
>  Replying to @SapphireSlugger  
>  [ ****](https://giphy.com/gifs/depressed-frustrated-charlie-brown-l8nG6KM3h6UDK)

Jaime smiles at his own jokes and puts his phone down on the counter. He’s still shocked that SapphireSlugger’s been a woman this whole time. In retrospect, he guesses it was always kind of obvious given how much she highlights women's sports. A lot of men sadly wouldn't do that. 

He wonders what she’s like. What her life is like. He tries to picture the woman behind the handle but just gets a kind of fuzzy idea of a pony-tailed athlete. He can’t make the image any sharper without other details to latch onto. 

Jaime looks at the clock. He needs to get the kids transitioning to bed. Shutting off the TV, he shuffles them upstairs. He cleans up the remains of dinner and makes himself a cocktail, gambling on Cersei being out much later still. He quickly checks that the kids are in bed with the lights out before he settles down on the couch to watch last night’s game. By the time his sister rolls in around midnight, Jaime is half asleep. He barely says two words to her as he grabs his things and heads out to call for his car.

————————————————

Brienne’s new apartment looks out over Blackwater Bay and each morning she rises with the sun breaking over the horizon, sparkling and glaring off the sea. She has always felt the most at home near water. This is a far nicer place than she’s ever lived, purchased with money she inherited upon Selwyn’s passing. It’s a little scary to be spending what she feels she should be saving, but when she had seen the view she had taken the apartment immediately. The place is modern—more modern than would normally be Brienne’s taste—with floor-to-ceiling windows, clean lines, and sleek appliances. She’s made it her own, though, filling it with comfortable furniture and personal accents—things that make her happy and remind her of Tarth. Framed watercolor paintings hang on the walls. Books are piled everywhere. Layered textiles and natural materials bring warmth to the sterile space. 

Her new neighborhood is nice, too—urban but filled with homey cafes, cute boutiques, and a couple of nice wine bars. She’s slowly settling in. She’s started to build her list: the best sesame bagels, her favorite latte, the grocery store with the freshest produce, et cetera, adding and revising as she tries new places. It’s starting to feel more familiar—if, still, like a bit of a stop gap to nothing.

She fills her day with routine activities. Brienne loves routines. She has a morning routine and a bedtime routine. She has a workout routine and a beauty routine (even if that one is simply moisturizer, sunscreen, and chapstick). She has weekday routines and weekend routines. Routines give her purpose and they stop her from spiraling into a sea of “what ifs” and “what nows” and “why mes.” Routines help to keep her from dwelling on the past and worrying about the future. At least, that’s what she tells herself. 

Her Saturday mornings generally go as such: wake-up early for a run along the bay, a quick shower, and then a trip to the cafe to grab a coffee and a pastry. Then she wanders over to the local farmer’s market to do a little shopping. There’s a vendor that sells flowers and has enormous bouquets that are so cheap that Brienne actually feels guilty. The line is always long but the dahlias are too perfect to miss. 

On this particular Saturday, she’s meeting her college friend—and college _crush_ —Renly Baratheon at the market. She finds him near the market’s entrance. He looks as handsome as ever, leaning against one of those boxes that’s filled with free, local newspapers. His brown hair is longer than the last time she saw him and he has a short, trim beard. He’s wearing loose jeans, cuffed high at the bottom with a soft-looking green wool cardigan. The same roguish schoolboy looks he had ten years ago. She hands him a croissant and an iced coffee and they make their way down the busy rows of vendors, catching up on years passed by. 

High school had been hell and college didn’t start much better. Around the beginning of her second semester, a bunch of the guys in her dorm started being friendlier to her. Rich kids who had kind of laughed at her before. Hyle had been one of them. He'd been in her program and she'd thought that maybe he had convinced the other guys to be cool, since he was nice enough to her in class. It had turned out, in the end, that they had started a bet to see who could take her virginity. They had called her Brienne the Beauty behind her back. It had been awful and Hyle had been awful. It had taken years of him groveling for her to even speak to him again.

Brienne brought accusations of the bet to the resident director, Randyll Tarly. He'd said that the whole ordeal was her fault. She knew he didn’t like her because she was a scholarship student—didn’t come from money like the rest of her classmates at Storm’s End. She threw a huge stink and got disciplinary action brought against the boys. She'd moved dorms and that’s where she'd met Renly. He'd been her RA in her new dorm. He was the first person in years to treat her with only kindness and support. She was immediately infatuated and pretty much followed him around like a lost dog until she saw him making out in a common room with one of the other male RAs. She'd felt a little silly about it—the crush—but she still liked Renly and they stayed close. She'd eventually made a small circle of friends at school, but Renly had been the first.

The pair are in the line to purchase flowers, laughing and drinking their coffees, when Brienne spots Jaime Lannister a few stalls away. He’s strolling through the market with two excited kids swarming around him. They’re pulling him this direction and that—pointing toward baked goods and other treats while they bounce on the balls of their feet in anticipation. Brienne wonders if they are his children. She’s never heard of him being a father, or even dating someone for that matter, but she really isn’t the type to follow gossip or celebrity news. They look enough like him—their shining golden hair likely the color his had been in youth. The boy looks to be around eight or nine, while the girl, with her long, wavy hair and trendy clothes, looks closer to a pre-teen 11 or 12.

Jaime himself seems different here. Happy and at ease—laughing as he buys produce and a couple of brownies for the kids who have raced off ahead of him. Brienne attempts to duck behind the tall man next to her in line so she can keep watching Jaime. He _looks_ different as well. Gone are the ballcap, tee, joggers and athletic sneakers. He’s wearing what she assumes are casual clothes for him: relaxed chinos and a thin crewneck sweater, an expensive-looking jacket and trendy shoes that Brienne wouldn’t know how to begin to describe. His hair practically sparkles as the sun catches some of the remaining blond streaked through it. To top it all off, he’s wearing glasses. _That just seems insidious_ , she thinks.

He honestly looks like he stepped off the pages of Dornish Vogue and she notices other patrons swivelling their heads to watch him as well. Renly catches her following his movement through the crowd and he nudges her with his hip. “That’s Jaime Lannister. His twin sister is married to my brother, you know?” Brienne, actually, did _not_ know.

Jaime seems totally oblivious to all the attention as he buys some strawberries and shouts to the kids to wait up. As he nears the flower stand, Brienne grabs Renly and spins him around, blocking herself as much as possible from Jaime’s view. Hoping that he doesn’t notice her, she whispers to Renly that she’s had run-ins with Jaime and is _not a fan_. She keeps herself shielded longer than she assumes is strictly necessary, shuffling along as the line inches forward. She keeps up a hushed conversation with Renly—whose boyfriend Loras happens to coach one of the other teams in the League—trading stories of Jaime, his fall from grace, and his remarkable cheekbones. When they finally get to the front of the line, Brienne is so frazzled that she grabs the nearest bouquet, a cascade of blooms so big she can barely carry them. 

“How much?” she asks the small, harried woman who is wrapping the flowers in brown paper.

“Oh, hello! For you, free!” she says, eyeing the flowers Brienne is struggling to balance. She regards the duo with a large, lopsided smile. 

“What? I don’t understand.”

“That pretty gentleman over there paid for them,” she says, pointing down the market to where Jaime has stopped several stalls away. Brienne and Renly both lean forward to follow the woman’s eyeline. Jaime winks at them. He actually does that. He winks. It’s infuriating and condescending and _obnoxiously_ attractive. 

Violently blushing, Brienne realizes that the woman has still been talking to her. 

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

The vendor chuckles, “You’re a very lucky lady. Do you want me to wrap those up for you?” She reaches for the bouquet. “ Your gentleman friend paid way too much. You should also take this small nosegay. It’s tuberose—smell,” she says, shoving the small white flowers towards Brienne’s nose. The scent is almost overwhelming—powerful, even heady. It is sweet and exotic, but there’s something a little rotten underneath. A foul note that stands out to Brienne. 

“Well, it looks like Jaime’s a fan of _you_!” Renly laughs, taking one loud last sip of his iced coffee.

Brienne grabs her bundles of flowers and looks back to Jaime. He’s moved on with the kids and does not seem to intend to approach her. Good. She doesn’t trust him. She wouldn’t trust a man like him, anyway—too rich, too beautiful, too talented. But she knows the Kingslayer rumors and he’s done nothing to disaffirm her initial evaluation of him. It always just seems like he’s messing with her.

The rest of Brienne’s weekend is uneventful. It’s notable only with regards to the flowers from Jaime, lack of any kind of contact from Hyle, and her Twitter conversations with GoldenGlove—which have become less about baseball but gotten both more and more irreverent and occasionally more personal. He’s funny and thoughtful and available. He’s been there for her through the move more than her own boyfriend has. It feels good to have another friend in King’s Landing, even if she doesn’t know him in real life.

 **SapphireSlugger** **  
** Today I saw a guy on the street dressed  
in a full suit of armor.   
Mar2, 2020, 5:40 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
**Where? When?  
Mar 2, 2020, 5:57 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** By Fishmonger’s Square around noon.  
Mar 2, 2020, 6:04 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Oh, wasn’t me.  
Mar 2, 2020, 6:09 PM

—

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Do you ever stop yourself—right in the  
middle of something—and think “why am  
I doing this?”  
Mar 4, 2020, 9:33 AM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** What do you mean? Example please.  
Mar 4, 2020, 9:41 AM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I don’t know. Yesterday I did something  
kind of manipulative and I feel like a bit  
of a jerk. I think the impulse was just  
“what would happen if?” and I saw it  
through to the end.  
Mar 4, 2020, 9:54 AM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Okay, well then, what happened?  
Mar 4, 2020, 10:02 AM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I don’t actually know.   
Mar 4, 2020, 10:04 AM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** This is a very confusing conversation.  
Mar 4, 2020, 10:07 AM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** It is.   
Mar 4, 2020, 10:08 AM

—

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Are you watching the game?  
Mar 7, 2020, 7:20 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Yeah, after I make dinner. Did you eat already?  
Mar 7, 2020, 7:39 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I...snacked.  
Mar 7, 2020, 7:45 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** You can’t just eat cheese and crackers  
for dinner, you know.   
Mar 7, 2020, 7:49 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I didn’t [says the guy who ate a giant  
bag of potato chips and a hunk of  
chocolate for dinner]  
Mar 7, 2020, 7:52 PM

—

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I have a meeting tomorrow. For a new job  
that starts in the fall. I already have the  
job but I’m nervous about the meeting,  
anyway.  
Mar 8, 2020, 2:12 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** New jobs are stressful. Is there anything   
specific you’re nervous about?   
Mar 8, 2020, 3:04 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I don’t know. I got the job completely  
virtually—a phone interview, all that.  
I haven’t met any of the colleagues  
that will be there tomorrow.  
Mar 8, 2020, 3:17 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
**You’re worried that they’ll be disappointing?  
Mar 8, 2020, 3:26 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** No! I’m worried they’ll be disappointed  
with me.  
Mar 8, 2020, 3:34 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Why? Are you underqualified?   
Mar 8, 2020, 3:38 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Definitely not for part of the job. For the  
other part? No, I don’t think so.  
Mar 8, 2020, 3:44 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** But you’re worried they’ll be disappointed.   
Mar 8, 2020, 3:46 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** If you met me in real life you’d get it.  
There’s not a delicate way to put this  
but I’m not very attractive. And I’m dull.  
Mar 8, 2020, 3:50 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I’m sure you’re worried about nothing.  
I can’t defend your looks but I take  
offense to calling yourself dull. I’ve  
been chatting with you for weeks and  
if you’re boring then I guess I am, too?   
No, no. I am of sparkling wit and great  
intellect, thank you very much.  
Mar 8, 2020, 4:08 PM

—

Friday morning, Brienne pulls on her best “responsible adult” outfit and treks over to Baelor South High School to meet with her new assistant, Principal Varys, and Barristan Selmy, the school’s Athletic Director. She’s early, but the doors to the school are unlocked. She lets herself in and wanders along the wide brick corridor. Outside what is obviously the main gym, there’s an enormous display case full of awards and team photos. Each shelf is lit from above and the gold plastic athletes, frozen in motion atop championship trophies, seem to glow. She finds the Varsity softball team—a lineup of athletic young ladies in green and gold uniforms. Some of the girls are smiling, some are not; some are very pretty, some are not. 

She’s instantly reminded of her own high school days and how awful they were. When she was a kid, she never lacked for confidence. She could run faster and jump higher and swim stronger than any other kids her age. She did everything that her older brother Galladon did. But then he died. She was 9 and her brother died. She lost her sibling, best friend, and protector all in one ill-fated afternoon at the sea. After that, she was adrift. Her family didn’t come from money and she never outgrew her awkward looks like everyone assured her she would. Middle schoolers are vicious. By high school she had mostly learned to ignore the ever-present taunts and she leaned heavily into sports as a way to be a part of _something_ , even if her teammates were never the friends she truly desired. Brienne played volleyball and basketball but softball was always her one love. She was stronger than all of the other girls so she could hit further than most of them. For half of the game, she got to hide behind a catcher’s mask. It felt like armor.

Brienne keeps looking around the display case and her attention is caught by a photo of a young man. The boy is blond and handsome and he’s smiling like he definitely deserves the award his picture is plastered to. She realizes that this all-conference track star reminds her of Jaime Lannister. He looks like who Jaime might have been in high school. Brienne knows the type—cool and confident, charming and cruel. He looks like a “winner.” She hates the kid by proxy.

But Brienne is an adult now and _should_ be far away from the trauma of high school. She’s slowly built her confidence back up, mostly with the help of baseball and a small group of friends. The name-calling and dirty looks still haunt her, clawing at the edges—trying to get back into her heart. To take back over and be what she sees when she looks in the mirror. She wishes it wasn’t still a daily struggle.

She ends up going into her meeting feeling just a little insecure—all of those memories and emotions from the past, shoved right against her questions about the future. She took this job on a whim, eager to flee Tarth after her father’s ashes were cast away on the waves. She needed to do something and Cat heard about the openings at the school. Brienne had never imagined life beyond playing pro. She hadn’t envisioned moving back into the world where she had to live by a less clear set of rules and expectations. Where she had to constantly navigate different personalities and learn new things and live life without a catcher’s mask to shield her from the worst of people. 

She’s honestly a little terrified.

But the meeting goes well. The job will be fine. Her assistant, Pia, is sweet and competent. Varys is a little mysterious but seems smart and strategic **.** Brienne especially hits it off with her new Athletic Director. There is a solemnity to Selmy that seems to betray the ferocity with which he talks about sports and the role they can play in kids’ lives—strong words like courage, honor, and devotion. 

Everything is going to be okay. When she checks her phone on her way to the car, she sees that she has a DM from GoldenGlove79: 

I hope the meeting went great. I’m sure it  
did. But if not, remember: "every strike  
brings [you] closer to the next home run."  
\- Babe Ruth  
Mar 9, 2020, 10:03 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter of what I've written so far (so, "whew"). I was going to wait until closer to 24 hrs from posting chapter 1 but got antsy.
> 
> Also, I upped the rating to Teen. As a forewarning, I might need to update it again later, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up ahead of actually writing anything smutty. I'm not sure it fits in this story.
> 
> Brienne's SapphireSlugger account is sort of loosely based on the [@PitchingNinja](https://twitter.com/PitchingNinja?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor) account run by Rob Friedman. brynnmck helped me adapt it to hitting instead of pitching. My husband and sons have matching Pitching Ninja t-shirts.


	3. Leading Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening day, sponsorship seeking, acts of bravery, and more Twitter bonding

Opening Day is sunny and cloudless. There’s enough of a breeze to keep it from being too hot, but not enough to create any unfavorable conditions for playing ball. Jaime picks up Myrcella and Tommen early in the morning even though their game isn’t until late afternoon. Cersei will show up later but she refuses to hang around the filthy fields all day. Hot dogs and a player parade aren’t worth the price of getting out of bed.

Tyrion and Co. are already at the field when Jaime and the kids show up. Tysha is volunteering in the concession stand for a few hours while Tyrion is helping to organize the opening remarks—introducing the League President, Petyr Baelish. Jaime’s only role prior to their game is beaming proudly from the sidelines when some of his players from last season are recognized alongside the other past All-Stars.

After the opening ceremonies, Jaime just kind of hovers near his nieces and nephews, not sure what to do with himself. He leans against a picnic table, scanning the crowds while they scarf down junk food and chat with their friends. The park is full of families. Mothers and fathers, fathers and fathers, mothers and mothers—shepherding uniformed kids to dugouts, dragging along bored siblings, schlepping chairs and coolers. Some look a little exhausted, but they all seem pretty happy—laughing, holding hands, helping carry the load. It makes Jaime feel...not sad, exactly. He’s not explicitly _lonely_ , but he sometimes thinks about what it would be like to have a partner. Someone he feels comfortable with; someone he can rely on; someone to get through life with. Someone to maybe build a family with.

Last night he had responded to a tweet of SapphireSlugger’s and they had started DMing.

 **GoldenGlove79  
** What’s the deal with your username?   
Mar 13, 2020, 8:19 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I’ve always had a good swing. That’s why  
I feature so much hitting content.  
Mar 13, 2020, 8:28 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** What about the ‘sapphire’ part?  
Mar 13, 2020, 8:33 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I like the color blue. It reminds me of the  
sea where I grew up.  
Mar 9, 2020, 8:37 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You don’t live there anymore?  
Mar 13, 2020, 8:40 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** No, I left for university and haven’t lived   
there since. The water in King's Landing   
isn’t nearly the same color.   
Mar 13, 2020, 8:44 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You live in King's Landing? I live in  
King’s Landing.  
Mar 13, 2020, 8:46 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I just moved here recently. I’m still  
adjusting. Well, what about your name?  
I assume Golden Glove is a baseball  
reference. What’s with the 79?  
Mar 13, 2020, 8:56 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** 79 is the year I was born. I feel like an  
old man.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:01 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** If you are putting your birth year in your   
username, you are definitely an old man.   
Mar 13, 2020, 9:04 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Gee, thanks. They say that with age comes  
wisdom, right?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:07 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I’m sure someone does.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:09 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I wish it felt like that. I am more direction-  
less than I was in my 20s, if less reckless.  
Wait, are you in your 20s? That would  
make me feel exceptionally ancient.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:13 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I’m 32.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:15 PM 

**GoldenGlove79  
** Ah. So you probably have your shit together.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:17 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I wish. I’m in the middle of a career change  
—I guess. I have no idea if I’ll stick with it. I  
really don’t know what I want. Is that awful?  
I should probably have it figured out by now.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:24 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Have what figured out?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:27 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I don’t know—life?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:28 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Have life figured out? Does anyone have life  
figured out? What about family? Do you  
have a family?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:30 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** No. None, actually. What about you?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:32 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** No. I mean, I have an extended family.  
They’re....complicated. But I don’t have a  
family of my own. Yet? Who knows?  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:36 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Yeah, it’s okay. I like being on my own.  
Mar 13, 2020, 9:38 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Me, too.   
Mar 13, 2020, 9:41 PM

They're possibly both fooling themselves—he knows he is. If he repeats ‘ _this is enough’_ enough times, maybe it will become true. They had gone on to chat more about baseball and other random topics, like medieval weaponry and Formula One racing, before signing off for the evening. It was nice to feel connected to someone he wasn’t related to, even if it was just over Twitter. 

He's thinking about the debate they had over whether ghosts were real (which obviously: _yes, they are_ ) when he spots Brienne Tarth’s towering blonde head above the crowd of parents and players. 

The Lannister Lions were playing against Brienne’s kids today. Her team didn’t have an official name, yet, since she didn’t have a sponsor. Or uniforms. Or a chance in hell of winning. He almost felt bad for her, but it was all just too funny to him for some reason—this earnest goliath and her team of misfits. He’s seen this movie before. They’ll lose but no one will care. The real win was the friends they made along the way.

Jaime imagines that Brienne must succeed at everything she sets her mind to. Serious and diligent, her life orderly and routine. She surely has a perfectly color-coded day planner and obsessively organized pantry. She can’t force her team to be good, though, and it’s probably upsetting to her to fail at something. She seems so rigid—it riles Jaime. He has a compelling urge to get her to loosen up. To be a source of chaos in her world. He guesses that’s why he’s doing shit like buying her flowers to mess with her.

As game time nears, their teams start to gather at Field No. 3. Jaime’s kids are in their pristine new uniforms, taking practice swings and tossing the ball back and forth. Their parents are calmly chatting in the stands or seated in neat rows of fancy camping chairs. There’s an air of professionalism that fills the “home” team area. It couldn’t be more different than Brienne’s side of the field. There are parents yelling at their kids (and at other kids, and at other parents). A couple of players are shoving each other. A few are warming up but they’re mostly snacking and talking loudly—shrieking and laughing. The team are all wearing random blue t-shirts in various shades; some plain, some patterned, others with embellishments or characters emblazoned across the front. One kid is wearing a Blackfish concert tee that’s way too big on him and must belong to a parent or older sibling.

Jaime notices, then, that the Starks are hanging out in the dugout area. Ned’s looking at something on his phone. Catelyn and Brienne are talking and there’s a familiarity between them that feels more intimate than coach/parent. Jaime has never liked the Starks. They are rivals of the Lannisters. Or they were, until they gambled big on some real estate investments several years back and lost a bunch of money (at least, that’s the tale that Jaime’s father spins). But besides that, they are ridiculously self-righteous. The Starks are very fond of their own self-image of “goodness” and Brienne seems no different. No wonder Jaime disliked her from the start.

Jaime catches up with a few of the parents and connects with Addam to go over the batting order. The ump calls the coaches together to chat before they turn the fields over to the kids for official warm-up. Brienne has on a royal blue sleeveless top. It’s the kind of shirt that looks like a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The boxy shape emphasizes her shoulders and the slender muscles of her arms. When she looks at him, he’s temporarily dazzled by the blue of her eyes, made all the more brilliant in the midday sun.

“Coach Lannister,” she says with icy formality, holding out her left hand to shake. The natural instinct to use her non-dominant hand makes Jaime’s chest feel funny.

“Coach. Good to see you again. How are the flowers? Did you find a nice vase for them?” Jaime holds her gaze and her hand for a beat or two longer than strictly necessary. Brienne seems to blush a little. The soft pink on the apples of her cheeks would look sweet if she wasn’t scowling at Jaime so severely. He winks at her and her eyes go wide with rage. Jaime’s not sure why he gets a little thrill from her ire. Maybe it’s just the most visible he’s felt in months. It ignites Jaime’s competitive spirit. He doesn’t care so much about the game—his team will cream them—but now it’s his mission to see how off her guard he can get Brienne. How much he can make her sweat.

The ump goes over a few standard details for today’s game. Jaime keeps his eyes fixed on Brienne the whole time, watching her squirm—doing everything she can to keep from looking at him. When the ump finally says “let’s play ball,” Jaime gives Brienne his smuggest smile and says, “See you after the slaughter, Coach.” If looks could kill, Jaime might just die happy. 

Addam nudges him. “What the hell was that?” 

Jaime shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jaime has Addam coach from the dugout so that he can be out on the field today. He spends most of his time watching Brienne. He watches her the whole game. Watches her clap enthusiastically as Sansa Stark gets a simple base hit. Watches her pat Arya on the shoulder after she strikes out Tommen in the bottom of the second. Her team is mostly terrible. Like get-hit-in-the-face-by-a-fly-ball terrible. But they get a few good knocks in. Her batting order is fairly tight with Arya, Lyanna, and Gendry in the 2-4 slots. And she really does look remarkable in blue. 

It’s the fourth inning when Jaime sees Cersei arrive. Her hair is piled on her head in a carefully arranged bun. She’s wearing a long flowy sweater over high-end workout gear and a pair of enormous sunglasses—the bigger the better to keep the sharp sunlight from aggravating her hangover, Jaime imagines. She brings her own chair and sits far from the other parents. Far from Tyrion and Tysha, who smile broadly and clap loudly every time one of the twins is at bat. 

Tywin Lannister, of course, does not attend his grandchildren’s sporting events.

The Lions destroy Brienne’s team. The only real play of note is in the top of the sixth. Brienne’s team has managed to load the bases. Gendry cracks a line drive deep into center field. A stocky dark-haired kid—Podrick Payne, the roster says—races toward home for what would be their team’s only run. A Kettleblack gathers up the ball and whips it to Damon Marbrand, the Lions catcher. Damon tags Payne out, just before his cleat touches home. At least, that’s what the ump, Clegane, sees. And it’s what Jaime sees, too. It’s _not_ what Brienne sees (or not what Brienne wants to see). She starts arguing with Sandor. He has about five inches on her but she’s right there—her face red, her arms thrown out wide in a “what the hell?!” gesture.

Clegane looks to Jaime and he raises his hands up in front of him, purses his lips and shakes his head as if to say “don’t look at me.” He doesn’t want to get involved, he just wants to keep watching her get worked up. Also, he honestly doesn’t want to take away the run, even if he knows Payne was out. Fuck, he’s soft sometimes. The ump stands his ground in the end, Brienne storming off to the dugout.

A half an inning later, the two teams stream past each other, “good game good game good game”repeated with each smack to an opponent's hand. Jaime pulls up the end of his line and when he gets to Brienne, grabs her hand and holds it. “Good game, Coach. Sorry about that run.” She draws in her brow and mouth in a line—shooting daggers at him through eyes narrowed to slits. 

“You don’t have to call me ‘coach,’ you know—I’m not _your_ coach.”

Jaime just shrugs a single shoulder. Like, “Who cares? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m cool.” But as they part from each other, Brienne lifts the hem of her tee to wipe the dirt and sweat from her face. Her exposed stomach is pale and toned, with softly defined muscles that gleam with perspiration.

Jaime trips over home plate. 

He just fully bites it and lands in the dust. Brienne looks back, letting her hand and shirt drop just a little. Her barely concealed laughter, the mirth in her eyes, and her still-exposed abs make Jaime’s stomach drop a little. 

_What the fuck?_

————————————————

Brienne’s in line at her favorite cafe, Shae’s. On weekdays it’s a constant buzz of people commuting to work, parents pushing kids in strollers, freelancers working on laptops—busy baristas racing to fill to-go orders. But on weekends it slows down. Friends chatting animatedly in corners, lovers crossing ankles under tables, books and full pots of tea, pastries and refilled coffees. Brienne grabs her latte and finds a spot to sit along the window overlooking the Avenue of Aegons. She pulls out her laptop, throws on her headphones and settles in.

Opening Day had been a disaster. She barely knows where to begin to help her team. She feels so bad for Arya, Gendry, and Lyanna. They'd been so defeated after playing the Lions yesterday. She knew the other kids would struggle. They’ve been getting better at practice and against any other team besides Jaime Lannister’s Super All-Star Mega Team of Future Professional Ball Players it might not have been a _total_ massacre. It was so bad that after the game, Shireen’s stepdad volunteered to be assistant coach. Brienne might have hugged him. 

And then there was Jaime himself. With his sleazy winks and mocking mouth. His constantly calling her Coach like it was either an insult or term of endearment. Strutting around in his perfect uniform with his perfect hair and perfect fucking jawline. During the game Catelyn had noticed Jaime’s singling Brienne out. She warned her friend to steer clear—saying that the Lannisters were trouble and Jaime was the golden child. Brienne doesn’t need to be told twice. But what is it about him that has her so rattled? She’s been treated unkindly by men in the past but this feels different somehow. 

Shaking her head to clear away his smirking face—Brienne returns to the problem at hand. While she obviously can’t make the kids top-notch athletes overnight, she can deal with the problem of sponsorship. She hadn’t realized how bad it would feel not having uniforms. It was embarrassing, and she hadn't been able to muster the pluck she needed to keep up the kids’ morale the way they deserved. Uniforms and a sponsor might make them feel more like a part of something worthwhile. It might make them work harder for those wins. Maybe an ice cream shop or restaurant—somewhere that might feed them after games or practices.

Most of the kids on her team don’t come from money. Before the season, she had already poked around about any of their parents being business owners who might want to sponsor the team. The Starks had done it in the past, but they had encountered some financial hardships a few years back and were unable to commit to it this year. Stannis Baratheon flat-out refused. Brienne got the impression he wasn’t wild about Shireen playing ball, despite Davos volunteering to help coach.

Without any real leads on sponsors, Brienne is going to have to get creative. Maybe she can get the local news or online media outlet to do a story on her team seeking sponsorship. She doesn’t love the idea of being on camera, but it might work, so she guesses it is worth a shot. She shoots off a text to Renly asking if he can connect her with Margaery Tyrell, Loras’s sister. Margaery is a freelance writer, and had written the profile on Brienne for _Westerosi Woman_. 

Renly replies immediately and Brienne shoots off an email to Margaery. Despite them being very different people, Brienne likes her and trusts her to help. Margaery is smart and cunning, but _good_ , Brienne thinks. Margaery blessedly replies quickly and Brienne leaves the cafe with a plan to meet her the following Thursday to record some talking points. The young writer has some good ideas and she seems confident that she can get the local news to at least share the story on social. 

**-**

On Tuesday afternoon, Brienne pulls up to the ballpark for her team’s first practice of the week. All the fields are filled with teams running drills and there’s a familiar, rhythmic din to it all—the sharp metallic ping of bat meeting ball and the soft leather thud of ball meeting glove. Brienne breathes it all in and slowly makes her way to Field No. 6. She’s surprised to find the Brave Companions occupying her field with no signs that they’re about to wrap up.

Brienne’s kids are starting to arrive so she directs them all to an area behind the backstop as she approaches the Brave Companions’ coach, Vargo Hoat. 

“Hello,” she says, smiling broadly and extending her hand. “I’m not sure we’ve formally met. My name is Brienne Tarth.” When he doesn’t take her hand, she pulls it back and pushes on. “I just wanted to check and see if your team was getting ready to finish practice. We’re supposed to have the field at 4:30.” She gestures to her waiting players. She tries to keep it light, but the tall, bearded man doesn’t look ready to go anywhere. Or talk it out. He’s got a large scar down one cheek, a heavy brow and has his small weaselly eyes trained on her.

“My team isn’t going anywhere. We have the field until five.” He has a slight lisp. He sounds uncompromising, and Brienne sighs. 

“I’m sorry, I just know that isn’t correct. All of the teams switch at the half hour—look around.” She gestures to the other fields where teams are leaving and new ones are unpacking their gear. His eyes don’t move from her face.

“I don’t know what to tell you, girl. Call Baelish’s office.”

“But my kids are all waiting.” 

“I don’t see how that is my problem.”

Brienne isn’t sure how to proceed. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to accept anything short of, potentially, a large cash bribe. He’s just standing there, with his hands on his hips, waiting for her to give up. She can feel her anger rising. Hoat is tall but gaunt. She could probably pick him up and remove him from the field by force but she reminds herself that the kids are watching. She’s about to back away and come up with an alternate plan when all of a sudden, Jaime Lannister is there. He must have come from the adjoining field. 

“What’s the deal, Hoat? Why aren’t you packing up?”

“This your woman, Kingslayer?”

“The fuck, Hoat—are you drunk?” Jaime says softly enough that the kids can’t hear. Brienne does. “Get off the godsdamned field.” He’s flexing his left fist and looks ready to brawl but Hoat holds his ground. “Okay, your funeral. Brienne’s tight with the local news, you know?” Jaime casts Brienne a sidelong glance. “You don’t want to be on her bad side.” She doesn’t miss the coded dig. 

When Hoat doesn’t move, Jaime takes a step closer to the other coach, using his height and strength to intimidate Hoat, and Brienne can see the man realize he’s going to lose. 

“Okay, Braves, bring it in!” Hoat yells loudly out into the field. “We’ll pick it up on Thursday!” And then under his breath, “And fuck you, Kingslayer. Mind your own business next time.”

Brienne motions to her team to take the field and when she turns to thank Jaime, he’s already walking away. _He looks as good from behind as he does—_ She stops the thought before finishing it.

**-**

She’s still obsessing about it hours later, as she’s laying in bed trying to wind down. She keeps picturing Jaime standing next to Hoat, defending her. Flexing his fist, bouncing on the balls of his feet. She hates the damsel-in-distress vibes but is oddly excited by it all the same. She tries to forget the fact that Jaime had seemed sickened when Hoat had suggested they might be dating. She’s ashamed of herself over the frequency with which she’s been thinking of Jaime Lannister lately. 

She knows that she’s always had a weakness for beautiful and charming men. Which is funny since she’s neither of those two things, and beautiful, charming men don’t often give her the time of day. She instead takes what she can get, since men who are interested in her are rare. In the few instances where a man pursued her at all, she’s accepted their offers of dates or their sexual advances, despite having little interest of her own. Hyle is a hustler. He’s always looking for an angle. He works to ingratiate himself to anyone that can help elevate his status in some way. But he sees her—accepts her presence in the world. Before Hyle, there was Tormund. He was loud and brash, but strong and funny. He valued things that others held in disdain—Brienne’s size and strength—but she often felt like all he cared about was her body.

So what does Jaime Lannister want? His smiling, teasing face—it seems like he’s always there giving her a hard time. If he was any less handsome or she any more beautiful, she might think he was flirting. Since that’s obviously ridiculous, what’s his angle? Why does he pursue her attention at all? Making fun of her and then saving her? She resolves to double-down on ignoring his immature behavior. She won’t let him get to her anymore. Words are wind, and Jaime Lannister can float away on a strong spring breeze. 

Brienne grabs her phone to check Twitter. Maybe GoldenGlove79 has written her or tweeted something that will make her smile. He seems like the kind of person who would always have a video of a direwolf and a housecat being best friends at the ready, in case someone needed it.

> **GoldenGlove79** @GoldenGlove79 · 47min  
>  **TFW you face down the enemy, save someone from imminent peril, and still don’t get a “thank you.”**

Brienne goes to reply to his tweet but some instinct to keep their conversation private causes her to DM him instead. She’s started thinking of him as a personal friend and not just another baseball handle. It’s probably not the smartest idea—to be so invested in something with such limitations—but, well, here she is. Maybe it’s the anonymity that’s allowed the crush to grow. Because that’s what it is, right? A crush? A crush who can’t see her and therefore can’t reject her based on her massive build and brittle hair. She can’t be defined by the things that she cannot change and it’s freeing. 

**SapphireSlugger  
** Are you very brave?  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:02 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Me? Am *I* brave?  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:07 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Yes. Do you take risks, overcome fears,  
stand up in the face of adversity?  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:10 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Jeez—that’s…lofty. No? Yes? I don’t know.  
I think I used to be more like that. Used to  
really put myself out there, but I think that  
was probably immature bravado and not  
actual bravery. Why?  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:14 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Today, I backed down from a fight and it  
felt like failure. Your post made it sound  
like you did something brave today. I just  
wondered what it was, how you behaved,  
and how it made you feel.  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:17 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Oh! Yes—I *was* brave, that’s right! I saved  
a young maiden in distress! There was a  
spider in my niece’s room. I trapped it in a  
cup and took it out to it’s new home on the  
terrace. I’d say I saved two lives today.  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:19 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Ha, okay. Well, how did it make you feel?  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:20 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** POWERFUL.  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:21 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Not all heroes wear capes.  
Mar 17, 2020, 10:22 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line _"If he repeats ‘this is enough’ enough times, maybe it will become true,"_ is a little nod to one of my favorite fics in the J/B fandom: [**always find me here**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527805/chapters/53830096) by [robotsdance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance)


	4. Behind the Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's sponsorship story goes live, she bails Jaime out of a bind, and she meets Asha.

Jaime is sitting on the other side of Tyrion’s desk. His feet are propped up on the mahogany surface, while they watch the giant flatscreen on the wall of Tyrion’s office at Lannister Corp. Margaery Tyrell is on screen, interviewing Brienne from the King's Landing East ball fields. The stunning woman is overshadowed in Brienne’s presence, Jaime thinks, as he listens to the broadcast.

“We’re here with Brienne Tarth—a former catcher and power hitter for the women’s fastpitch team, the Stormlands Thunderbolts. The daughter of the late, great Selwyn Tarth, Brienne is now living and working in King’s Landing, where she has taken on the difficult task of coaching a team of inexperienced 9-12 year old Little Leaguers. Brienne, how did you come to be in charge of this group of young people?”

“Well, video does nothing for her looks,” Tyrion says, talking over the clip. “They say the camera adds ten pounds but does it add 10 inches, too? She’s towering over poor Margaery. How are they even keeping her in frame?”

“Well she’s not looking at the camera,” Jaime says. “Someone needs to tell her that her eyes are her best feature.”

Tyrion gives his brother a look but it goes unnoticed. 

“So you’ve been struggling to find a sponsor for the team, is that right, Brienne?” Margaery asks, placing the microphone in front of Brienne’s large lips.

“Yes. Unlike some of the other teams in our league, my kids aren’t really from well-off families. In an area teeming with wealth and privilege, it’s a little intimidating. I’ve worked hard to try and find a sponsor, but I’m coming up short. We need uniforms. And some new equipment. That’s why I’ve turned to you, Margaery. I’m hoping to get the word out. To see if by broadening the scope I might be able to find a generous local business, eager to make a bunch of kids insanely happy and truly proud of the hard work they’re putting in.” 

Jaime scoffs. “She’s  _ never _ this eloquent, you know? I’ve watched a lot of interviews she’s done and they’re never this good. She’s serious and tongue-tied—not at all clever. And she’s haughty, for no reason that I can tell. She’s fairly insufferable, Tyrion.”

“Oh? You dislike her? Really?” Tyrion’s voice is disbelieving and tinged with just enough sarcasm for Jaime to pick up on it.

“What? We’re rivals.”

“Rivals? You’re obsessed with her.” Off Jaime’s shocked look, Tyrion continues. “Well, rivalry is a funny thing. You’re so focused on just this  _ one _ person. It’s like they’re the only thing that’s worth your time and attention. You plot out what you’re going to say or do the next time you meet, but...you hate her. Obviously.” He pauses, while Jaime tries to figure out how to even begin to respond. “Hey, check it out! Who’s that good-looking guy?” Tyrion says, gesturing to the television. 

Jaime’s face fills the screen—clean shaven, hair blowing slightly in the breeze of the field. He’s wearing a tight-fitting raglan tee. It’s white with red sleeves and has the Lions logo on the left chest. 

“I’m here with Jaime Lannister—formerly of the King's Landing Kingsguard. Jaime rose to fame as a rookie, when he became involved in the controversy over the unexpected mid-season exit of starting shortstop Aerys “The King” Targaryen. Jaime left the sport altogether in 2017 when his right hand was crushed in an altercation outside a Volantis nightclub. Jaime. How do you respond to the idea that some teams might be at more of an advantage because their parents have money?”

“Look, I get it. People don’t like it when it seems like the other guy has something they want. Our team wins games. We’re not just looking for participation trophies.”

The show immediately cuts to Margaery in a dugout now talking with Asha Greyjoy, another coach in their league.

" _That's_ what you said?” Tyrion asks, incredulous.

“That’s not  _ all _ I said! I said— fucking Margaery. I said that while my team certainly benefited from the support of Lannister Corp, just showing up wasn’t enough. My kids work insanely hard to build their skills and be good teammates. And that I thought the community was enthusiastically supportive of the league and that I am sure someone will be eager to sponsor Brienne’s fledgling team.”

“Fledgling?”

“It was fine—I was charming! Shit. Well, they want to make her out to be a saint. What better way to do that than giving her a Big Bad as an enemy? I don’t care. I mean, whatever—I hope she gets a sponsor. I don’t hold any ill-will toward her, really.”

Margaery’s back talking to Brienne on the field again, but now you can see her team warming up in the background. “I’ve dealt with taunts my entire life,” Brienne says to Margaery. “People telling me I don’t fit. I’m not good enough. I’m used to it. I think that experience helps me be an empathetic coach and friend. One of the other coaches in the league, he laughed at my team. He made fun of kids who are out there having fun and trying their best. Can you believe that? But I’m here to support those kids and teach them and help them grow.” Turning to the camera, “If you’re interested in helping me with that, I’d love to chat about opportunities for sponsorship.”

“Ha, well, it seems like  _ she _ holds some ill-will toward  _ you _ ,” Tyrion says, laughing as he shuts off the program.

**-**

Jaime’s still kind of aggrieved over the interview a few days later. He complains about it all through dinner at Addam’s that evening. Addam had invited him over saying he wanted Jaime to spend more time with his boyfriend, Benjen—get to know him better. He had failed to mention that Benjen had invited along his cousin, Lysa, to get to know  _ Addam _ better. Jaime knows a set-up when he sees one. Lysa is perfectly lovely but not interesting enough to tempt him into anything more than polite, obligatory conversation. 

On the way home from dinner, Jaime stops at a big box store to grab some deodorant. He only needs to get that one thing but he mindlessly wanders the store for over an hour—grabbing household items that he isn’t yet out of, cute homegoods he certainly doesn’t need, socks ( _ you can never have too many socks _ ), and some new sportswear that he can wear to the ballfield. Jaime wanders past the beauty section and sees a rack of face masks. The kind that are a single sheet of material that you put on and look like your skin is all crumpled. He grabs a couple to do the next time Myrcella stays the night. For some reason, the shopping makes him feel better—more fulfilled. 

All of the check-out lines are long. He tries to locate the shortest one, and as he’s scanning the space, his eyes lock on a hulking blonde form.  _ It can’t be.  _ Jaime moves to checkout lane 7 and gets behind her. They are in line for a while and she doesn’t notice him. So he watches her. The way she picks at the hem of her jacket. The way she repeatedly pulls out her phone, either checking the time or waiting for a call or text. When they near the front of the line she starts putting her items on the belt.

“Who buys greeting cards anymore?” he says, loud enough to get her attention. 

Brienne spins around and he can see her whole body go into battle mode. Her back straightens and she moves to block his view of her purchases. 

“What do you mean, ‘who buys cards?’ There’s an entire section of the store devoted to them,” she responds defensively. 

“Who’s it for?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s a birthday card for my boyfriend.” As she says it, her eyes cast downward and she keeps putting items on to the belt.

“Boyfriend? You don’t mean Renly, right? You know that he’s…”

“No, it’s not for Renly,” she interrupts—disgust dripping from her tongue. But she doesn’t elaborate.

“So, mystery boyfriend. Well, look at you, Coach.”

“Ugh, what do you care, anyway?”

“Care? No, no. Just making conversation.” 

“If that’s what you call it.”

Brienne spins around, to give the cashier her attention (and ignore Jaime). She doesn’t acknowledge him again as she finishes checking out. She’s loading all of her items into bags that she’s brought and then arranging them into a cart she has with her. She must live nearby, if she’s planning to walk home.

When the cashier rings up Jaime’s last item and gives him the total, he reaches for his wallet and finds that it is not in his left back pocket. He pats the right side and it’s not there, either. When did he last have it?   
  
“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I have my wallet.” He’s trying to decide if it could still be in his car when Brienne speaks up. He hadn’t even realized she was still there.

“I can pay for it. You can pay me back later.”

“No, I— I couldn’t. That would be…” but he trails off realizing that it is, by far, the path of least resistance. Plus, he needs that deodorant. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back immediately.”

They don’t say much more to each other. She pays and then says goodbye and you’re welcome for at least the seventh time before she turns to leave. Jaime bristles a little at the idea of owing her, especially after she threw him under the bus in that interview. He takes his bags to his car and heads home. As he drives, he wonders if any of the houses that he passes along the way belong to Brienne—the warm yellow glow of a porchlight welcoming her home.  _ Her boyfriend welcoming her home. _

**-**

Back at his townhouse, Jaime settles in on the couch and turns on the sports channel for the daily highlights show. He pulls up Twitter and sends SapphireSlugger a DM. Writing with her has become a regular occurrence. When he has a dumb thought, he shoots it over with a winking emoji. When he’s in a meeting for more than thirty minutes, he checks Twitter immediately after, hoping to have a message from her. When something good or hard happens, he thinks to share it with her first. He hasn’t had a crush like this since high school. It’s kind of embarrassing.  


**GoldenGlove79  
**Have you ever had anyone dislike you?  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:14 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Sure, of course.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:17 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I mean, like, fundamentally really, really  
dislike you.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:18 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I’ve actually been hated on sight before.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:20 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Seriously?  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:21 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** My dad tried to set me up once. The son  
of  one of his colleagues. When the guy  
showed  up for the date, he took one look  
at me and  made a hasty exit.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:23 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Sounds like an asshole.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:24 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I guess. Ugly people are pretty abhorrent in   
general, if you didn’t know. I’m used to it.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:26 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** That’s really...sad.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:27 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I know. So who dislikes you?  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:29 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** This woman I run in the same circle with.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:30 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Why doesn’t she like you?  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:31 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I think I’ve been kind of a jerk to her.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:33 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** So be nicer.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:34 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Interesting plan. Tell me more.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:35 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I don’t know. The next time you’re  
inclined to  be mean, be kind instead.  
Or at least neutral.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:38 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** You make it sound easy.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:39 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Isn’t it?  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:39 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** It doesn’t feel that way. I wasn’t raised to  
be kind. I wasn’t  bred to be friendly. I was  
mostly taught to distrust. To look   
out for number one. That I was better than  
the other guy and  he’d be gunning for me.  
I learned to use my assets as weapons.   
Disarming opponents by any means  
necessary—with wit,  charm, good looks,  
money, power, whatever.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:43 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Really? That doesn’t seem like what I  
know of you.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:44 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Well, I guess I don’t mean that I’m a bad  
person or anything… it just doesn’t come  
naturally, to express warmth or kindness.   
I feel it. I know what’s good and right.  
I just...I don’t know  how to be that guy.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:47 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
**You don’t have to be him all at once.  
And I think you’re a good guy. A good guy  
with some shit opinions about baseball,  
but a good guy.  
Mar 27, 2020, 11:49 PM

Jaime thinks he can almost literally feel his heart swell. There’s this warm, throbbing feeling that fills his chest. It probably shouldn’t feel this good to just be told he’s ‘good’ but it does. He types out “Do you want to meet sometime?” He pauses before hitting send. This could be a colossal mistake, but that feeling is still fluttering around in his body and he presses enter.

————————————————

Brienne hadn’t known how to reply when GoldenGlove79 asked if she wanted to meet. She'd immediately typed out YES! And then deleted it. Then she carefully crafted a refusal and deleted  _ that _ . In the end she said she’d think about it. There were a million reasons she wanted to say no, but she knew they all boiled down to fear. Fear that he’d want to leave immediately upon seeing her. Fear that he wouldn’t be as exciting in person as online. Fear that she’d be ruining something great on a gamble. A gamble that...it could be something even greater? 

But then, what about Hyle? She tried to rationalize that she wasn’t doing anything wrong—that she would just be meeting up with a friend—but she knew that it didn’t feel right. She knew that was a lie. The last time she had talked to Hyle he suggested that she come back to Storm’s End for a couple of weeks in August, before her school year starts. She’s been dragging her feet on committing to the trip. If she didn’t even  _ want _ to go...

Brienne locks her phone and puts it back in her pocket, having read the latest message from Margaery. Today’s concerns are not of romance but youth baseball. There are still no leads on the sponsorship front. She'd been so sure that doing the interview would inspire at least one business to reach out, but: nothing. She sighs and tries to think of what to do next. 

Brienne adjusts the bill of her blue Thunderbolts ball cap against the bright afternoon sun. The team is still filtering in for today’s game against the Krakens—a team sponsored by the large regional office of the Greyjoy Cyber Security company. Their coach, Asha, is a member of the Greyjoy family, as Brienne learns during their pre-game introduction. She and Asha chat easily. The small, compact woman is funny and a little crude. She seems the type to just say what she means, which Brienne admires. Brienne’s more reserved than that, herself, but as the occasional object of ridicule or scorn she’s learned to appreciate brutal honesty. It’s so much better than secrets whispered behind backs or lies that obscure the truth.

She mentions to Asha that she’s new in town.

Her opposing coach perks up. “What are you doing the rest of the day? Do you wanna grab a beer?” Brienne brushes aside the instant rush of social anxiety that wells up and accepts the invitation. They make a plan to hit up a bar after the game. The game, which is mostly unmemorable besides the moment in the top of the fourth when one of the Krakens hits a fly ball to left field—to Robin Arryn, the Starks’ cousin. He’s bent over, tying his shoe, when suddenly the ball basically bounces right to him. The pale, gangly kid scrambles to pick up the ball. He takes a few steps in order to get momentum to throw infield, but trips over his untied shoelace. Lyanna races back from her position at shortstop to grab it but it is too late to save the play.

Despite that, the team is actually able to score a couple of runs because Pod, Arya, and Lyanna all get on base in the bottom of the fifth and a deep line drive from Gendry brings Pod and Arya home. Unfortunately, Bran is in the 5-hole and he doesn’t get a good hit off and neither do the next few batters. Brienne is going to need to revisit her lineup. Maybe she’ll switch Pod and Bran, at least. The team is getting a touch better at defense—her top players working well together in the infield. So now they aren’t getting slaughtered, just beat...handily. It’s too early in the season to know if they are the worst team in the league yet, but it often feels like it. 

Brienne chats with Asha throughout the game, exchanging jokes and commentary. As they head out from the field, talking excitedly about the bad date Asha went on last night, the women spot Jaime leaning against the hood of his car.  _ How long has he been standing there? _ Brienne wonders. She notices that he’s wearing the clothes she saw him buy the other day at the store when they ran into each other. He looks insanely good in the navy form-fitting joggers and loose white tee. He has more stubble than when she ran into him in the checkout lane. 

“Ooh. Last night’s date would have ended a lot differently if he looked like Lannister over there,” Asha drawls, nodding her head in Jaime’s direction.

“You know him?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I mean, he looks like he knows  _ you _ ...you know, Biblically.” Brienne shoots Asha a look and then turns her attention to Jaime again. He’s definitely watching them. When Asha waves, he looks a little embarrassed when he waves back.

“What? No, that’s...no. Not interested.” Brienne’s face feels hot. She looks away from both friend and foe. 

“For real? I’d hit that in a second!”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

“Well, he  _ is _ a Lannister,” Asha says as they reach Brienne’s car, which they had agreed to take to the bar. “You know they screwed over the Starks. I don’t know the details but that’s how they lost all of that money. My brother told me. He’s good friends with Robb Stark. But Jaime wasn’t involved at all. He was still playing ball when it happened. Hadn’t even started at Daddy’s company yet.”

“What about the Kingslayer?” Brienne clicks the unlock button on her key fob and the girls climb in. 

“I don’t really know. I don’t have any inside scoop or anything but I never really believed it. It didn’t seem to me like there was any proof behind the idea that Jaime stabbed anyone in the back. I always thought it was jealous rumors,” Asha says snidely. “People love to believe that someone beautiful and talented secretly sucks.”

Brienne feels terribly guilty as she pulls the car out onto Muddy Way, headed toward Fishmonger’s Square. She supposes she doesn’t remember any hard proof that Jaime did anything wrong, either. Just that that’s what people said. Coupled with his looks and talent and him getting injured outside a nightclub, it painted a picture she felt like she knew too well. Of someone given everything—looks, talent, privilege—who had done nothing to deserve it or show they appreciated it. She had thought Jaime spoiled and reckless—a man without honor. She realizes that she actually knows nothing about him besides that he seems to get a lot of enjoyment out of tormenting her, he's bad at remembering to bring his wallet places, and he seems surprisingly good with kids.

“Is he married?” Brienne asks, blushing a little. “I saw him with some kids at the market a couple of weeks ago. They looked like him, but I wasn’t sure if they were his.” 

Asha smirks. “I thought you weren’t interested?” When Brienne just kind of rolls her eyes a little, Asha explains, “Those are his sister’s kids. He takes care of them a lot, I think. As far as I know, he’s single.”

“Why do you know so much about Jaime Lannister?”

“When Westeros’s Most Eligible Bachelor runs in your circle, you kind of pay attention.”

Brienne pulls up to The Blackwater, a small bar and restaurant on River Row, just the other side off the Square. They make their way inside and settle in at the ornate, U-shaped wooden bar. The place is busy, despite being late afternoon. There’s a stocky man behind the bar. He looks battle-worn and nods his head at Asha like he knows her.

“How was the date last night, Asha? Timett said he saw you in here with a very pretty gentleman.”

“Just give us two Hightower Pils,” Asha says flatly. “Bronn and I dated,” she explains to Brienne, gesturing to the bartender. “Briefly!” she adds, pointedly, glaring at the man behind the bar who gives her the finger.

Turning her attention fully back to her new friend, Asha inquires, “So, you’re ‘not interested’ in Jaime Lannister. Are you dating anyone?” 

“I saw those air quotes you used on ‘not interested’ and am choosing to disregard them. And, uh, yeah, actually, I  _ am _ dating someone. I have a boyfriend who’s back in Storm’s End. He’s an actuary.”

Asha raises her eyebrows and gives her head a little shake. “And?”

“That’s pretty much the most interesting thing about him.”

“Ouch. So that’s it?”   
  
“With him? Yeah, pretty much.”

“With him? Is there someone else?”

“Maybe?,” Brienne pauses, debating how much she wants to share. “This is not like me, but there is this guy. Online. We’ve been talking through Twitter and then realized we are both here in King's Landing. I don’t know what it is. It might just be a friend thing, but it feels like something else. He asked if I wanted to meet up.” 

“You  _ have _ to meet him. Obviously. Why have any unanswered questions? Just say ‘yes.’ Do you think he’s as hot as Lannister?” Asha smirks, waggling her eyebrows.

“Gods, I hope not! If he is, he’ll want nothing to do with me.”

“First of all, please. You’re a goddess—you look like the Statue of the Maiden in the fountain at The Park of the Seven. Second of all, I saw the way Lannister looked at you. I wouldn’t be so sure.”

When Brienne gets home later that evening, she does three things: she sends Hyle a “we should talk” text, asking if he’s free tomorrow afternoon; she DMs GoldenGlove79 and agrees to a meeting; and she Googles Jaime Lannister and reads everything she can about the Kingsguard’s infamous ex-shortstop (spending a inappropriate amount of time on the image search results). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling very sleepy when I was trying to edit the formatting on this. LMK if you see any goofs!
> 
> This line from Tyrion: _“Well, rivalry is a funny thing. You’re so focused on just this one person. It’s like they’re the only thing that’s worth your time and attention. You plot out what you’re going to say or do the next time you meet, but...you hate her. Obviously.”_ is basically cribbed from [a post by @gayarsonist on Tumblr.](https://gayarsonist.tumblr.com/post/185753153478/ok-but-the-concept-of-a-rivalry-is-just-so-funny)
> 
> Apologies to theworldunseen for Addam's boyfriend being not a big deal. He originally just had a generic name but for fun I changed him to Benjen (and changed "Jeyne" to Lysa). 
> 
> In the next chapter, **one of them finds out about the double life they're leading!**


	5. Swing and a Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of them finds out they’re unwittingly communicating online. There's an altered meet-up, some disappointment, a broke-down car, and more bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upfront note to say that J’s POV section of this chapter is a VERY direct lift from You’ve Got Mail. I feel like it’s maybe too close to the actual scene in the movie but it is just too good and isn’t fanfic all about adjusting canon things to suit your taste and story? 
> 
> Let’s call it an homage to the late, great Nora Ephron.

“So, sorry…what are we doing right now?” Addam asks, sounding suspicious. As if Jaime’s asked him to do anything besides walk a few blocks out of his way. “I know you told me, but it sounded like nonsense so I’m almost positive I heard you wrong.” 

It’s early evening and Jaime and Addam are walking along the Avenue of Aegons in the area just north of the Iron Gate. They had met up for a quick drink after work and Jaime had convinced Addam to walk with him to his...date? Hang? Rendezvous? Whatever you’d call it ( _ no one would call it a rendezvous, Jaime) _ .

“I’m meeting SapphireSlugger.”

“The girl from online?”

“The woman, yes. She’ll be at Shae’s—I’m supposed to meet her at 7.”

“What does she look like?”

“I have no idea.” 

“How will you know it’s her, then?”

“She is supposed to be wearing a Gold Cloaks baseball cap and should have a Faceless Man action figure with her.”

Addam looks at Jaime, in his Kingsguard cap, and gives him a pointed look. 

“What?” Jaime asks, exasperated.

“No, no! She sounds like your dream girl. Into sports  _ and _ nerd shit. She could be really ugly, you know?”

“I know, Addam. I just…I have to find out. We’ll say hi, have a coffee, and go home. No pressure.” 

The confidence is an act—Jaime is nervous as hell. He thought having Addam walk with him would help calm his nerves but it seems to be having the opposite effect.

“I just hope she doesn’t talk in text slang,” Jaime worries aloud.

“Uhhh...what now?”

“You know: LOL, OMG, TYSM. Myrcella uses all of those in regular conversation. She says them, with her mouth. It’s annoying as hell.”

“Myrcella is twelve. Are you meeting up with a child?” Addam turns to make a face at Jaime as they keep strolling down the city sidewalk.

“Well, no. Not unless I’m being catfished. Which, like— would just be my luck.  _ Why _ am I doing this? It’s crazy. Why mess with a good thing?”

“What else are you going to do, J? Talk to Possible Dream Girl over Twitter for forever? No. You’ll go and you’ll see.”

“And I’m not going to stay long. I’ll just have a coffee, and—I already said this. It’ll be fine. No, it’ll be  _ great _ , right? Fuck.”

“Relax, dude,” Addam puts his hand on Jaime’s shoulder.

They walk in silence for another block, passing businesses that are making their evening transitions—shops shuttering for the night while bars and restaurants are just starting to pick up steam. They pull up to a stop in front of Shae’s. It’s one of those homey cafes that does everything—coffee and baked goods in the morning, wine and small plates at night.

“Can you go look?” Jaime asks. He knows he sounds desperate.

“Me?”

“Yes, just, look through the windows and see if you can see her.”

“Bro, you’re 40 years old.”

Jaime flaps his hands, shooing Addam toward the building. Addam does his best to look inconspicuous, scoping out the place, but he definitely looks like he’s up to something, if anyone were to notice him.

“Well, do you see her?”

Addam squints at the window, as if that will help in some way. “I think there’s a waiter blocking her—I can see the action figure, though, so it must be her. Oh! He’s moving.”

“Well? Can you see her now?” Jaime knows he’s coming across just a touch manic but, whatever, it’s only Addam here to witness his little meltdown.

“Yes.” 

Addam says it with a weird note of finality that Jaime doesn’t exactly understand. “And?”

“She...well...she, you know...she kind of reminds me of that coach? The one who coaches the Starks’ team?”

“Brienne Tarth?”

“Yeah, right. Brienne Tarth. You like her, right?”

“Tarth? I mean...no, not particularly.”

“Well, if you don’t like Brienne Tarth, I don’t think you’re going to like this woman.”

“Why?” Jaime asks, moving to stand alongside Addam.

“Uh...because it  _ is _ Brienne Tarth?”

“No. Noooo...” The second ‘no’ is full of anguished acquiescence. He sees her. Sitting there at the table, fiddling with the action figure and checking her phone. Jaime walks a few feet away and runs his hand over his face from his forehead to chin. He rubs his jaw and paces a little, thinking. How can...and should he...but will she…

“What are you going to do, man?” Addam’s moved away from the window as well. He looks between Jaime and the cafe.

“Nothing? Leave?” Jaime hopelessly suggests.

“You’re just going to leave her there? Stand her up?”

“Addam...you don’t realize how much this woman hates me,” Jaime says.

“But she really likes GoldenGlove69, or whatever, doesn’t she?”

“79—fuck!” Jaime inhales deeply and exhales out an aggressive hiss of air. “I’ll figure something out. You should go home. Please, don’t say anything to anyone. And thanks. For your help.”

Addam gives Jaime a pat on his shoulder, holding contact for a beat, and then leaves him standing by the curb. Jaime leans against a postbox and looks skyward. He considers asking the Gods which one of them has the twisted sense of humor but he knows he’ll be answered with silence. Brienne is SapphireSlugger. SapphireSlugger is Brienne. Brienne hates Jaime. But SapphireSlugger seems to like him well enough. 

He stays out there, in the darkening evening, trying to decide if his next move is into the cafe or back home. He runs through as much shared history as he can, trying to match up Brienne with her alter ego. Obviously they are both softball players; power hitters. And both are new to King's Landing. SapphireSlugger had always shown a particular fondness for Selwyn Tarth and the Tarth Islanders. And her charity has ‘Evenstar’ in the name of it. It seems so obvious now. It’s possible that Jaime is a complete moron.

So. Brienne. Huh. He can’t deny that there’s been an undercurrent to their relationship from the start. He doesn’t understand it but also hasn’t looked that closely at it. Maybe on purpose.

He finally just walks into the cafe. He doesn’t make a decision so much as he just moves. He has no plan, but he’s definitely not prepared to tell her everything right away. He needs time to think. He knows he’s a terrible actor and he’s going to have to pretend he didn’t know she’d be here and it’s going to be pitiful. He steels himself and walks up to the to-go counter, pretending to ponder the menu choices. 

Jaime glances over Brienne. As expected, she’s wearing her Gold Cloaks hat—the yellow-gold script logo set off against the dull gray of the cap—but it’s the rest of her outfit that draws his attention. She’s got on a white v-neck tee, jeans, and sneakers. Nothing remarkable at first glance but the details are what make it sing. The tee is loose and made of a slightly textured and slightly see-through material. He can see the faintest outline of a bra. The jeans are dark, skin-tight, and a little cropped—they show off a swath of calf above the tops of her trendy high tops. He’s never seen her like this before.

She looks his way and they make eye contact. Jaime gives her a small wave as she visibly deflates. He can actually see it. The resignation of having to deal with him washing over her. Now, he  _ has _ seen her like this. He makes his way across the room to her small candlelit table.

“Can I join you?” Jaime asks, although it’s a rhetorical question since he’s already pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“No! I’m— I’m meeting someone.” 

“I’ll leave when they get here. Is it a date?” Wait a minute—didn’t Brienne say she had a boyfriend? “Your boyfriend?” 

“No, just a— a friend.”

Hmm. A friend.  _ Tell her _ , he thinks. Do it now.

“Brienne, I— what’s with the action figure?”  _ Coward. _

Jaime picks up the small plastic figurine with wavy hair and gray, loose robes. It’s a good representation of the actor who plays the main character in the House of Black and White.

“Why?” she narrows her eyes in suspicion. 

“I’m just curious. I love that show.”

“Really?  _ You _ like fantasy?”

“Not as much as sci-fi, but yeah. The show’s good. Season 4 was my favorite.” He’s turning the figure over in his hand when she reaches out to take it back. Her fingers brush along his and his breath catches. He can still feel the memory of her fingertips when the waiter swings by and asks if Jaime would like something.

Brienne says “No, he’s not staying,” just as Jaime orders a decaf cappuccino. She gives him a dirty look.

“Did you find a sponsor yet?” He asks, hoping to just keep her talking.

“No,” she looks defeated. “I thought that I’d get  _ some _ leads from the news story.”

“I’m sure you will. That interview was...good.”    


“Good?” she snarks.

“Parts of it seemed a little pointed. I’m not sure why you hate me,” Jaime gives her the most innocent look he can manage. He’s worried it’s coming off more flirty than he intends it to. 

“You’re not sure why I don’t like you? Is that a joke?”

Jaime’s coffee arrives, so he ignores the question. He reaches for the sugar packets on the table with his prosthetic hand. He struggles, just a little, opening the tiny paper packs and pouring them into the foam. 

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Brienne blandly remarks. She’s watching his hands, tracking what he can and can’t do. “You seem pretty adept with your hand. Why didn’t you stick it out? With the Majors, I mean.” Jaime looks up at her, through golden lashes. “I’m sorry. Is that too personal?”

“No, I’m just surprised. People don’t ask me about it much. I think they think it’s offensive to bring up. As if my disability shouldn’t matter to anyone. But it does—especially to me.” 

“Of course it does!”

“I’m not sure why I quit playing. I sometimes worry it was the wrong move. But I was already 37 and, well, it’s kind of pathetic, but I was used to being a star. I had a long road ahead of me with physical therapy and it all just seemed insurmountable. I think I let self-pity dictate the course of my life—or, at least, however long the rest of my career would have been. If I had stayed with it, I may not have been elite but anything might have been better than nothing. I miss it, to be honest.”

“There’s still time.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know,” Jaime looks down at his hand, resting on the table. “So you’re friends with Asha Greyjoy? She’s a character.” 

“Jaime, I should get back to waiting for my friend…” Does she look a little reluctant? Or is it just pity he sees in her face?

“Right. Well, ah, actually...there's something else...”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it's just something I need to tell you. Look. Brienne, I—,” Jaime pauses, panics. “I don’t know how to say this, but...I think you should switch up your batting order. I know it’s not my place but you should put Bran Stark in the number one spot and move that Payne kid to fifth. He’s better than Bran and more likely to drive home the other runners.”

Brienne laughs. Jaime’s craven but Brienne’s face lights up and her eyes sparkle so it doesn’t matter for this one moment.

He furrows his brow, smiling a little and wrinkling his nose.

“That is not at all what I thought you were going to say. But, also, I was already planning to do that after yesterday’s game against the Krakens.”

“Ah.” He lets out a little huff of understanding. “Great minds and all that. Okay, I’ll head out, then. See ya on the fields, Coach. I hope your friend shows up.”

Jaime leaves $20 on the table, ignoring Brienne’s protests that it’s too much. He heads back out into the now-dark night. He feels good. Warm and content. That is, until he starts thinking about how truly insane the situation is, and the guilt and worry start to sneak in. He should have told her, right? He doesn’t want to lie—he truly doesn’t—but he’s ready to accept the facts: he likes her. Kind of a lot. He hasn’t felt interested in someone like this in...maybe ever? 

On the field she’s honorable and powerful. Online she’s thoughtful and funny. She understands his world—his past, his present. It sort of feels like he’s always been waiting for her to show up. It’s an unsettling feeling, to say the least. 

Walking down the long city block, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, he decides he needs some sort of plan. Some way to tell her that he’s GoldenGlove79 and tell her how he feels—maybe not in that order. He needs to figure out how to tell her the truth without her telling him off. 

But first things first: he pulls up Twitter and sends an apology for standing her up. “I don’t have a good excuse to give you. I can’t explain what caused my absence. I hope I can someday. I’m sorry.”

————————————————

Brienne steps out into cool evening air, the door to Shae’s swinging closed behind her. She pulls her jacket a little tighter and turns towards home. Taking out her phone, she shoots a text off to Asha.

> **Brienne:** You’re not going to believe this.
> 
> **Asha:** Online Guy was, in fact, HOTTER THAN LANNISTER?!  🤤
> 
> **Brienne:** Funny you should mention him. Actually, GoldenGlove stood me up. But I ran into Jaime while I was still waiting.
> 
> **Asha:** Online Guy didn’t show? Fucker. Did you make out with Rival Coach instead?
> 
> **Brienne:** Asha. I don’t even *like* Jaime.
> 
> **Asha:** Ok, ok.  🤐  I’m sorry your date didn’t show. Have you heard from him?
> 
> **Brienne:** He said ‘I can’t explain what caused my absence. I hope I can someday.’ Whatever the hell that means. Also, it wasn’t a date-date.
> 
> **Asha:** Whatever you say. But I am sorry. Keep me posted if there are any new developments. Next time you see Lannister, stick your tongue down his throat.
> 
> **Brienne:** …

Brienne smiles politely at the doorman to her building and continues through the lobby to wait for the elevator. She stares at the floor numbers as they light up in reverse order: 16-15-14-13-12, until the number one with the star next to it illuminates. As soon as the doors slide closed, her composure breaks. Her teeth start to chatter and she brings her hand to her mouth, trying to keep the tears at bay. She had tried hard to keep expectations in check for her date with GoldenGlove79 (despite what she said to Asha, she'd definitely thought of it as a date). Maybe he’s really immature in person, or eats with his mouth open, or is rude to waiters, or believes in the designated hitter—not deal breakers for Brienne, just...less than ideal. 

But maybe he  _ had _ shown up, had seen her, and decided that  _ she _ was a deal breaker. Her height and strength, awkward features, pale skin and freckles—things he simply wasn’t attracted to. Maybe he was trying to let her down easy. Her breath shakes a little, imagining him seeing her through the window of the cafe and hightailing it out of there.

“Is there someone else?” Hyle had spat. 

When she had broken up with Hyle earlier in the week, he hadn’t taken it particularly well. “Is there someone else?” “No, not yet. But there’s the hope of someone else,” she’d replied. He hadn’t liked that. The idea that being with no one was better than being with him seemed the ultimate offense—at least, coming from Brienne. Hyle said a bunch of unkind things that made little sense to dwell on, and she wished him a nice life (in more or less those words).

So, fine. Maybe GoldenGlove isn’t the great love of her life. Neither was Hyle. Brienne is used to being alone, she’s just not really used to this kind of rejection. She so rarely puts herself in any kind of vulnerable situation. In eight months of dating—after she finally agreed to dinner with Hyle—she'd never really felt invested or exposed. It had worked because she'd gotten some of the things she was looking for in life—physical touch, an occasionally semi-intelligent conversation, someone to sit next to on the couch for an evening of TV—without much actual risk.

Getting stood up by GoldenGlove hurts her more than anything Hyle ever did aside from the bet. She feels let down in a way that she hasn’t in years. After weeks of increasingly frequent and familiar conversations, there isn’t much that would have stopped her from showing up at Shae’s—just to see. Just to try and see if something was there. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way. Maybe it didn’t take much to derail their first time meeting in person.

But speculation is pointless, she supposes. All she really knows is that he didn’t show. And Jaime Lannister did.  _ What luck, _ she thinks with derision. Actually, that’s not fair. It had been fine. If she hadn’t been waiting so expectantly on GoldenGlove—worried that he’d arrive while Jaime sat in his place—it might have been a pleasant enough encounter. Welcome even. 

Asha’s comments about Jaime flash through Brienne’s mind and her face heats up. _ If a woman blushes in an elevator in King’s Landing and no one’s around to see it, does it even happen? _

**-**

Later in the week, Brienne’s team has a game against the Dothraki Dragons. Arya, Gendry, and Lyanna play the best they have yet, and Pod isn’t too far behind, swinging the bat with more and more confidence. Some of the other kids are averaging out a little but they still have their moments. Jojen Reed actually gets a hit but takes a tumble and kind of rolls into first. Lommy hustles to catch a fly ball and by the time he catches it, he is so out of breath that he has to lay down for a minute. The score ends up a somewhat respectable 7-2 and her team leaves in high spirits.

Brienne says her goodbyes to the last of the lingering players and trudges back to her car. Even with the kids having performed well, the game is draining. Being a coach requires so much more emotional labor (so much more  _ talking _ ) than being a player. She misses the days when it was her and the pitcher. As catcher, she was always focused on the whole game—the strengths and weaknesses of each hitter, following along with each and every move of the ball—but her communication was mainly directed at the pitcher’s mound. A single developed language and rhythm was a whole lot easier than establishing ten different ways to talk to ten different kids. 

Throwing her gear into the trunk, Brienne climbs into her tiny economy car and gets ready to head out. She turns the key in the ignition and the car cranks over but doesn’t start. She tries again but the same thing happens. Brienne climbs back out of the car and opens the hood. Selwyn had been a gearhead, so she knows her way around an engine. She checks the fuel pump fuse and it looks fine. She doesn’t have any of the other tools she needs to better diagnose the issue, so she slams the hood closed. 

Wiping her brow on her shirtsleeve, she looks up and spies Jaime Lannister heading her way. The lot is basically empty now aside from his shiny red sports car. He looks like half a god striding through the dust-clouds left by departing cars.   


“Car trouble, miss?”

“Cute,” she bites back.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks, seeming earnest. He’s leaning on her driver’s-side door, head cocked a little to one side. His face is neutral—she can’t find any hidden scorn or obvious agenda. Why is he even at the fields? She didn’t see his team playing today.

“I can call someone to come get me. Or take the bus.”

“Why would you do that? I’m already here and offering to drive you.”

“Fine,” she relents. “Thank you. Let me grab my stuff.” Brienne figures she can either call a tow or grab the things she needs to fix the car herself later. It’s been a long day. The car can be a problem for Future Brienne.

The interior of Jaime’s car is pristine. It’s all smooth lines and cool leather. It smells amazing. Brienne has to work to control her breathing—she can feel anxiety quickly flooding her body. The obvious luxury of the car feels too exotic and sharing these close quarters with Jaime feels too intimate. Neither one of them speaks as Jaime’s car turns over and he speeds into the streets of King’s Landing. Daylight wanes and the lights of the city start to glow—lamp posts come on and neon signs switch from Open to Closed. Brienne looks out the open window, turned away from Jaime, warm air rushing through her hair, her eyelashes dancing. For a moment she forgets herself. The sum total of her world whisks away on the wind and she’s a different person. She’s a woman on the edge of something. A new life, maybe a new love—adventure and fulfillment. Free from the doubts and worries that occupy her days. 

Jaime clears his throat beside her and she snaps back to the present.

“Did your friend ever show the other night at the cafe? Your not-a-date coffee date?”

“No, he didn’t. He got held up.”

“Your boyfriend isn’t jealous that you’re having clandestine meetings with men at romantic cafes?”

“It wasn’t— we broke up before that, actually.”

Jaime doesn’t say anything to that—no quick retort or easy insult at the ready. He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel a couple of times and then turns on music using the touchscreen on the dash. The soft, dulcet tones of an 80s power ballad fill the car. It feels so un-Jaime, she actually laughs out loud. 

“What?” Jaime chuckles nervously, side-eying Brienne. Her general discomfort of the moment and turmoil over the past week fuels her mirth and her laughter becomes almost hysterical. It causes Jaime to laugh more genuinely—actually seeming amused at the whole thing.

“ _ What? _ ” he repeats, smiling openly at her.

“No, nothing. It’s just not the kind of music I imagined you’d listen to. This song is probably nearly 40 years old.”

“It’s nostalgic!”

“Mmm-hmm. Okay. If you say so.” 

“Brienne…” Jaime’s tone shifts the air in the car and she knows that the silly little moment is over. “I want us to be friends. I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk. I know you don’t like me, but I swear I’m not a terrible person.” 

“I don’t _not_ _like_ _you…_ ” 

“But you don’t trust me—all that Kingslayer nonsense.”

“Nonsense? A man lost his career. His reputation.”

“Are you talking about Aerys or _ me _ ? Look, Aerys’s reputation being ruined was not my fault. We had all agreed to keep the situation under wraps. The story was supposed to be that Aerys was retiring early to spend time with his kids. I wasn’t the one who blabbed to the press.”

“ _ The story was supposed to be? _ What’s the real story?”

“The real story.” Jaime exhales a huge breath. Like he’s exhausted already. “Okay. It was only in my second season in the Majors, first season with the Kingsguard. I obviously knew 'The King' before that—he was an idol of mine and in that first year, he became my mentor.” Jaime pauses, like he’s lost in thought; transported back in time. His eyes stay on the road so it’s hard to track how he’s feeling. 

“But there were these moments he would have where he just seemed different,” he continued. “It started out so infrequently at first, that no one was paying much attention to it, but over the two years we played together it got worse. He was easily startled. He drank too much. One time I was in a car with him—he was behind the wheel and it was actually kind of terrifying how fast he drove.” Jaime tightens his grip on the wheel, knuckles white in the dim light of the car.

“Aerys was irritable. He had angry outbursts. He started forgetting things. And he didn’t seem to care about baseball in the same way that he used to. I talked to him about it and finally brought it to the leaders in the organization. We got him connected with a specialist who diagnosed him as having PTSD from a building fire a few years back.” Jaime glances to Brienne. Their eyes meet and she gives him the tiniest of nods. Just enough to say,  _ I’m listening. Go on when you’re ready. _

“The coaches and managers decided what would be best would be for him to take some time off. He went to a special facility in Essos, hoping to deal with it. The goal was to keep everything quiet so that he could return to baseball, but he was happier away from the pressure.” Jaime gives a sad little smile at that. They both know the stress of playing at a highly competitive level.

“I think that I got caught up in the rumors because I was so close to him and my position on the team actually benefited from him leaving. That was never my intention—I was just trying to help, to keep him safe. Going to the press and defending my honor or whatever would have drawn attention back to him, and that’s not what I wanted at all. So, I just let it be the story, since it seemed to be the one people wanted to tell. I guess it inarguably made me more famous. So...yeah. That’s the  _ real _ story.”

“Oh.” Brienne doesn’t really know what to say. “Wow.”

“Right.  _ Wow _ .”

“How is Targaryen now?”

“Better. His wife sends me updates now and again.”

Brienne nods. She wants to say “sorry.” Sorry she misjudged Jaime, sorry his reputation was tarnished by an act of kindness, but she just gives him a small reassuring smile. Mind spinning, she looks out the window and realizes that she doesn’t recognize their surroundings. She doesn’t live far from the ball fields and they’ve been driving an awfully long time. 

“Where are we?” 

“Oh, uh, I heard there was construction on The Hook, so I went the long way.” 

Another cheesy ballad comes on and she realizes that they must be listening to a playlist of old school love songs. She sits back and lets the feeling of anticipation wash over her again.  _ What’s next? _ she thinks.

-

Just as Brienne is settling into bed for the night, her phone lights up with a notification. “I really am sorry about the other night. Truly. I hope you’re still interested in chatting, despite me not making it to the cafe,” GoldenGlove writes, followed by a praying hands emoji. She pulls up Twitter to respond.

**SapphireSlugger  
** I am.   
April 4, 2020, 10:03 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I actually thought of writing you. Tonight my    
car broke down. I could have fixed it but    
didn’t have the tools with me. I could have    
fixed it because my dad fixed cars. A little    
later a song came on that reminded me of    
him and I missed him so much I couldn’t    
breathe. And there isn’t anyone else I    
wanted to tell, besides you.  
April 4, 2020, 10:05 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I’m really sorry. I’m glad you know you can   
talk to me. My mom died when I was a kid.    
I’ve thought about her a lot over the years   
but I’ve never fully looked at my life to   
determine which messed up parts are from   
losing a parent and not properly dealing   
with the grief. That’s probably 80% of my   
personality: Mom Died Young.  
April 4, 2020, 10:07 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** My mom died when I was young, too. I think    
the ways in which I’ve been shaped by losing    
my mom are pretty obvious sometimes.   
I can be guarded and a little fearful.    
Scared to take risks. Scared to lose yet    
another person. I’m not sure what losing my    
dad is going to do to me. It still doesn't  
feel real.  
April 4, 2020, 10:10 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I LOATHE the ways in which I’m like my  
father. I like to think that’s only about  
5-10% of me and it’s contained within the    
Mom Died Young percentage—since I think   
that’s the main reason my father became  
an asshole.  
April 4, 2020, 10:13 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** If you didn’t have your mom, and you didn’t    
have your dad—who did you have?  
April 4, 2020, 10:14 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** My little brother. Always my little brother.    
And occasionally my sister. You had your    
dad. Is that it?  
April 4, 2020, 10:15 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Pretty much. My brother died when I was a    
kid. Not long after my mom.   
April 4, 2020, 10:17 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Gods. I’m sorry. Well, we’re a cheery pair.  
April 4, 2020, 10:18 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Tell me about it.  
April 4, 2020, 10:19 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** What was the song that reminded you of    
your dad?  
April 4, 2020, 10:20 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Say You, Say Me. My dad loved Lionel Richie.   
April 4, 2020, 10:21 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** He had good taste. I have a playlist with that    
song on it. I was at an event with Lionel    
Richie once. He’s one of the nicest people    
I’ve ever met.  
April 4, 2020, 10:23 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** That sounds like my dad.   
April 4, 2020, 10:24 PM

Brienne goes to bed that night and dreams of baseball—a darkened field, players she can’t see, and the familiar sound of a classic love song piping throughout the stadium. She’s trying to steal second; running fast, huffing out breath. There’s a shadowy player guarding the plate—a blur, a suggestion of a person. She’s almost there and drops her body to slide to the plate, but she’s tagged before she makes contact. When she looks up, her field of vision is filled with golden hair and winking green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shout-out to my beta who knows so much about baseball and has helped me so much with this!
> 
> The idea of having a memory of her dad and the line “I missed him so much I couldn’t breathe,” are also taken pretty directly from YGM. 
> 
> The song that plays in the car (when Brienne first mentions the playlist) is “Can't Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon. My uncle claims that Lionel Richie is the nicest celebrity he's ever met. The song that plays in her dream is “These Dreams" by Heart. LOL. You can find Jaime's full playlist here: ✨ [GoldenGlove's Solid Gold Hits](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1bGxPLMyU2o4zGPAmW72jD?si=X0SVniIkT9-c20EDeNqgJQ) ✨ 
> 
> Okay, there MIGHT be a delay before posting Chapter 6. It’s close to ready but 7 is not yet. 5 was such a huge chapter, it might be good to take a breather after it! 
> 
> Sorry!


	6. Curveballs and Changeups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sponsorship is "acquired," there's a park run-in, jealousy on the field, and flirting in a bar.

The sun is high and hot and the city is all contrasts and sharp angles. Jaime flings open the heavy wooden door to The Blackwater and the blast of air conditioning feels like a physical blow—too cold against the muggy air wafting over from the fish market. It’s just past opening and there’s only one lonely patron in the place nursing a bottle of cheap beer at the end of the bar. Jaime sits down and waits for Bronn to appear from whatever backroom he’s gone off to. 

When he stopped by the fields the other day to watch Brienne’s game against the Dragons (to watch Brienne,  _ who was he kidding? _ ), Jaime had been reminded that they were playing without a sponsor. They looked to be improving a little but they still needed uniforms or no one would take them seriously. While he had yet to come up with anything resembling a plan for moving his relationship forward with Brienne, he can do this one easy thing. Well, easy aside from dealing with Bronn.

Bronn, of The Blackwater Bar and Grill, is Tyrion’s ex-con best friend. It takes some convincing to get Bronn to agree to the sponsorship. Jaime sells him on the idea that it will help people forget about his dodgy background. And in addition to elevating public opinion within the local community, he could also generate more business through the team. He can offer free fountain drinks and 10% off their bill on game days and likely get more patrons through the door.

Jaime makes Bronn swear that he won’t tell Brienne that the sponsorship is Jaime’s idea. He’s not trying to trick her or trap her. He doesn’t want to ‘buy’ her affection, so for now he’s keeping it a secret. If he’s being honest, he has no idea what he’s doing at all. The full image of Brienne and SapphireSlugger as one person had become clear very quickly but it still left him spinning a little—trying to sort through his feelings and parse her own.

Jaime orders a beer and makes Bronn promise that he’ll request blue uniforms.

-

The shadows are longer and softer when Jaime leaves The Blackwater to head home. He’s feeling restless and doesn’t know what to do with himself. To keep from spiraling over how to come clean—or endlessly obsessing over how Brienne might look in her new uniform—he decides to go for a run. He throws on his gear and heads south toward The Park of the Seven. He runs hard, punishing his body for being interested in a woman who can barely stand him, for lying to her, for having inappropriate thoughts about her while attending family-friendly sporting events, all that. 

As he’s turning a loop around the Fountain of the Maiden at the center of the park, he sees her. The light is fading and he can hardly believe it but he’d know her silvery blonde hair and broad shoulders anywhere. She’s wearing a cropped running tank and shorts and Jaime nearly swallows his tongue trying to call out to her. He waves wildly and she slows, having heard her name and spotted him across the sculptures of woodland creatures that circle the fountain. When he jogs over to her he can’t stop his eyes from traveling down the full length of her legs. Pale, smooth and freckled, they seem to go on for miles, ending in an incongruous pair of neon running shoes.

“Brienne, hi. You— uh, do you live near here? I mean, I dropped you off at home once—you don’t live near here. Do you run here often?” _Gods, Jaime: smooth._

“No. I just wanted to go for a really long run, so I thought I’d check out the park since I hadn’t been here before.”

“Right. Yeah, it’s nice. You should check out the Crone’s Gardens. They are really wild and overgrown. Completely remarkable.”

“Okay, thanks.”

**** Brienne must have run all the way to the park. She is sweaty and Jaime becomes entranced by a single drip rolling down the side of her neck. Just as it’s about to hit the curve of her shoulder, Brienne clears her throat.

“Jaime? I’m going to keep running...”  _ Tell her. Tell her who you are. Or at least ask her out. Do something! _

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been meaning to see if...um...”

“Yes?”

“Addam can’t be at our game on Saturday and I wondered if you could sub for him. Help me coach the Lions? The kids are used to having two of us on the field. They are really great, I promise. And they’d learn a ton from having you there. Myrcella and Genna idolize you—they talk about you all the time. They’d be so excited. And I know you’d have fun. The game’s at nine in the morning?” He gives her a tentative, hopeful smile.

“Oh. Uh, okay. Sure. I could do that.” 

“Great. Great, thank you. I’ll see you then?”

“Yes. Hey, which way are the gardens?”

Jaime points to the northeast and Brienne takes off running. At the edge of the clearing around the fountain, she turns, jogs backwards and gives him a small wave. Then she rights herself and retreats down the path.

**-**

**GoldenGlove79  
** Are you religious?  
April 5, 2020, 6:17 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Not really, no. You?  
April 5, 2020, 6:23 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** No, but sometimes I wish I was. It seems    
like it might be easier to believe something    
is guiding us—that we aren’t all on our own    
to flounder through life. Give it some sort    
of purpose that transcends the day-to-day.  
April 5, 2020, 6:26 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Today I went running through the Park of    
the Seven and stopped at the Crone’s    
Gardens for the first time. A friend told me    
to check them out and I had planned to    
just run by, but they were so beautiful.    
I stopped and sat for a bit—meditated, I    
guess. The statue of the Crone really does    
look very wise.  
April 5, 2020, 6:30 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Did you ask for guidance?  
April 5, 2020, 6:31 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Yes. I asked if she thought we should try    
to meet up again—you and I.  
April 5, 2020, 6:34 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Oh? What did she say?  
April 5, 2020, 6:35 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Nothing. She’s made of bronze, GG.  
April 5, 2020, 6:36 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Right. Well. I guess it’s up to us, then. I do    
want to meet, but there’s some stuff I have    
to deal with first.  
April 5, 2020, 6:38 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Okay. I understand. I mean, I don’t—that’s    
incredibly cryptic—but I can choose to    
trust. Trust you. Trust this.  
April 5, 2020, 6:40 PM

Jaime had (again) wanted to tell her the truth of who he is but he'd chickened out.  _ Again. _ Besides, he knows he needs to tell her in person. And soon. The longer this drags on the worse it will be, but he’s not sure she’s ready to accept him yet and he’s not ready to concede.

-

The game Saturday morning is a borderline disaster. Jaime acts like an insane person and he’s pretty sure that if Brienne liked him at all before, she definitely doesn’t now. The Lions are playing against the Martell Manufacturing Sand Snakes. Their coach, Oberyn Martell, is an old acquaintance of Jaime’s. Oberyn is handsome—with a wide smile, dark eyes, tanned skin, and black hair streaked with a few bits of silver. He is tall and athletic, with a reputation that far surpasses his slender frame. He is fierce and passionate. Tywin Lannister claims that he’s always been half-mad. He is also rumored to be bisexual and a wild and wanton lover.

Jaime hates him.

He knows it’s out of jealousy. Envious that Oberyn does whatever he wants, ignores society’s expectations, and spends his time seeking pleasure above all other things. Jaime thinks that he might be happier if he had the full measure of Oberyn’s audacity. Either way, things went to shit basically right from the start. During the coaches’ meeting with the ump, Oberyn ogles Brienne the entire time (at least, that’s how Jaime sees it). When they're introduced and shake hands, Oberyn lingers, holding onto Brienne’s hand. 

“I saw you play in Sunspear once. You were spectacular. With bases loaded in the fourth, you hit a triple that cleared the bases. You also had a homer in the sixth. It was impressive. What are you doing here? Helping this pretty boy win another Little League trophy?”

Brienne laughs softly and withdraws her hand. As she walks back toward the away team dugout, she calls over her shoulder to Oberyn: “He  _ is _ pretty, huh?”

Jaime squints at her, not sure what to make of it—wanting to be excited by her comment but pretty sure she was flirting with Oberyn more than with him. It only gets worse from there. Throughout the game, Oberyn makes Brienne laugh a bunch of times. Her laugh is huge and ungraceful. It’s so genuine that it makes Jaime want to cry. He’s in the dugout so he can’t hear what’s being said but her enormous smile is obvious enough from across the field. 

The few times Jaime gets the chance to say something, his usually sharp tongue fails him.

“What’s all that about?” He asks Brienne, as their team comes off the field.

“What’s all  _ what _ about?”

“The eyes. The eyes you’re making at Martell.” 

“What are you talking about, Jaime?” she says, with humor in her voice—like they are on the same team for once—but he’s too frustrated to feel bonded.

“Your eyes!” he yells, stomping away. “Godsdammit, Brienne!”

He isn’t any more calm or collected with his competition.

“Martell—you’re laying on the charm  _ awfully _ thick. Cool it. You’re distracting my assistant coach.”

“ _ Your _ assistant coach? I thought she was just subbing for Addam. Or is she yours in some other way?” Then, off of Jaime’s glare and silence, “No? Then I don’t see what the problem is. She’s a very striking woman, don’t you think?” Oberyn winks at Jaime before sauntering off. Jaime feels like his skin is on fire. Like one of those cartoons with steam coming out of his ears.

Brienne is patient and kind with his kids. She offers praise in equal measure to guidance. She gets down on their level—folding her over-six-foot tall frame down to their four-foot heights. She tips her hat back when she talks to them so that they can see her eyes. It’s sweet and makes a fondness grow in Jaime where there was already attraction. 

He is so distracted by all of it—Brienne’s gentleness and the Oberyn nonsense—that he doesn’t notice until around the fifth inning that Myrcella keeps whispering with Genna and stealing glances to the Sand Snakes’ pitcher, number #14. Jaime consults his roster: Tristane Martell. _Of course._ He feels protective but he supposes there’s nothing he can do about Myrcella eyeing a boy. Just like there’s nothing he can do if Brienne wants to go out with Oberyn. _Fuck._

When the game is over, 5-3 Lions, the teams do their usual handshake lineup. Brienne is ahead of Jaime and her “good games” float back to him like a song. When she gets to Oberyn, she reaches her hand out and he grabs her fingers, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. She looks startled and Jaime’s sure that the fury he feels is radiating out of him in waves. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes shoot daggers. Oberyn eats it up. He’s not even looking at Brienne as she quickly scoots away. That little performance is all for Jaime. 

Jaime strides back to the dugout with Brienne right on his heels.

“What was that?” Brienne demands, gathering up discarded balls and bats.

Jaime keeps his face turned away from Brienne. “What? Oberyn being a wild flirt? He’s known for that. That’s his brand.” 

“It seemed like he was doing it for your benefit, not mine.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  _ Evade! _

“Really? There’s no bad blood between you two?” 

“Well, I don’t like him if that’s what you mean.” Which is the truth.  _ Good job, Jaime. _

“I just don’t want to be involved in your little dick measuring contest.”

Jaime gasps. ”Little?! How dare you!”

Brienne’s giant laugh fills the dugout—bouncing off the cinder block walls. A wide, toothy smile settles on her face. He could swear his heart skips a beat.

“Look,” he says, “I don’t know if there was any ulterior motives behind his behavior, but he was probably just flirting with you because he likes you.”

“Yeah, right.” 

“Is that so unbelievable?”

“Yes. Based on my experience, yes.” She says it so calmly—no shame, no disappointment. 

“What’s not to like?” Jaime asks softly, watching her face.

She stills and her expression shifts so subtly that if Jaime wasn’t watching her so intently, he might not see it. Her eyes get a little wider and her mouth drops open slightly. The obviously studied mask of indifference moves to something more open—caught off guard. 

“I— I better get going.”

She gathers up her things and turns to leave.

“Brienne?”

She turns around and he reaches out his hand. She takes it in her own large, calloused one. Her grip is firm and steady, but her eyes are uneasy. Questioning.

“Good game, Coach.” 

————————————————

Yesterday had been...strange. First there had been the game and her weird interactions with both Jaime and Oberyn (and whatever was going on between the two of them). Jaime hadn't insulted her once and, instead, had seemed oddly fixated on Oberyn’s flirting with her, which in and of itself was  _ also bizarre _ . She’s never in her whole life had someone flirt with her so brazenly, let alone someone as attractive as Oberyn Martell. At first she had been suspicious but he'd seemed genuine and she didn’t dare try to call his bluff. It’s not that she isn’t interested at all, she just has other...well, interests. 

Jaime had surprised her with how great of a coach he was. When they had competed against each other at the start of the season, she hadn’t noticed, so fixated on her own kids for their first game. Jaime is patient and funny, smart and reassuring. She was touched by how much the kids seemed to respect him and look up to him. And he hadn’t been lying about Myrcella and Genna being excited for Brienne to assistant coach. It was sweet and, honestly, it had been fun to win a game again. It’s been awhile.

As if all of that wouldn’t have made for a perfectly remarkable day on its own, she gets a call in the afternoon from the man who owned the bar and restaurant Asha had taken her to. Bronn apologizes for not reaching out sooner. He says that he saw the news story on her search for a Little League sponsor and he's interested. When they hang up, Brienne immediately contacts the company that provides the uniforms to fast track an order.

Something about the cold call from Bronn niggles at the back of Brienne’s mind all day. She doesn’t think he just  _ happened _ to contact her. The timing seems odd and it feels like too much of a coincidence that she had just been there with Asha.  _ Asha! _

> **Asha:** Not me. I never would have thought Bronn would do something that generous. Either he’s got some angle or someone convinced him to do it.

Okay, but if not Asha, who? If it was Catelyn, she would have told Brienne about it. She checks in with Renly and Margaery but no one knows anything about it. Maybe it  _ was _ just a piece of good fortune. But then she has one other idea...

**SapphireSlugger  
** Hey - you didn’t secure me a Little League    
sponsorship, did you?  
April 12, 2020, 4:38 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** What now?   
April 12, 2020, 4:44 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Nevermind. Something good just happened   
and I’m suspicious. I think I have a    
tendency to distrust positive things that    
happen to me.  
April 12, 2020, 4:38 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Yeah? Why’s that?  
April 12, 2020, 4:48 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** People haven’t always been so kind.    
There was a thing in college. A bet.    
Kind of like a dogfight. But just me.   
April 12, 2020, 4:50 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Like who could get you to go on a date    
with them?   
April 12, 2020, 4:52 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Sure, something like that. A bunch of guys    
at school were unexpectedly nice to me    
for a while but it turned out to be a trick.    
And I’m such a sucker I ended up dating    
one of them.   
April 12, 2020, 4:55 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Wait, what? Why would you date one of   
those assholes?   
April 12, 2020, 4:56 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** He swore he changed. That he regretted it.    
That he cared about me.  
April 12, 2020, 4:58 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Did he?   
April 12, 2020, 4:58 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I think so. But I still shouldn’t have dated    
him. He wasn’t—it wasn’t—right.   
April 12, 2020, 4:59 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Sounds like a jerk. I’m glad you ended it.   
April 12, 2020, 5:01 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Thank you. Me, too. I think I deserve better.  
April 12, 2020, 5:03 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I’m absolutely certain that you do.   
April 12, 2020, 5:04 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Well, maybe that good thing that happened   
today was just that—a good thing.  
April 12, 2020, 5:06 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Maybe you're headed for a hot streak.  
April 12, 2020, 5:08 PM

-

Brienne is making her way to Field 5 for their Saturday morning game against the Golden Company Sellswords—the Blackwater Bears’ first with their new uniforms. She’s rushing across the park and when she rounds the concession stand she nearly collides with Jaime. 

“Whoa! Easy!” He’s clutching a small cup and jumps back a little, seeming worried he’ll spill hot liquid on himself.

“I’m sorry! I almost made you spill your coffee.”

“Oh, this isn’t coffee,” he says, straightening and smoothing out his jersey. “It’s hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Yeah. I wanted something hot and it sounded better than coffee.”

“Sure does. If you’re 11,” she says, poking fun at him ( _ with an abnormal ease,  _ she thinks).

“Sue me, I don’t like coffee.”

“The concession stand doesn’t even have good hot chocolate!” 

“I like shitty hot chocolate. It’s nostalgic. The stuff they serve at fancy coffee shops is too thick and creamy. I want watered-down, fake-tasting hot chocolate served to me in a styrofoam cup. It reminds me of fall and plaid blankets and high school football games.

“You probably loved high school.”

“You didn’t.” It’s not a question.

“It was...not great.”

“High schoolers suck,” he agrees. “I was probably one of them. If saying sorry retroactively as a stand-in for everyone who was awful to you would help…”

She shrugs and gives him a small smile, “it is what it is.”

“I like your new uniforms,’ he says, tipping his head forward, like he’s sharing a secret. “Blue suits you.”

Brienne kind of half rolls her eyes. “Thanks--the sponsor picked blue. Do you have a game today?”

“Later this afternoon. Mind if I come watch yours first?”

The Bears lose to the Sellswords 4-5. It’s the closest game they’ve had and the team is thrilled. New uniforms plus an almost-win? They’ll ride this feeling all week, Brienne thinks. Jaime ends up staying for her whole game, sitting in the crowd with his niece and nephew. He cheers wildly for the Bears and she thinks, not for the first time, what an unusual, persistent presence he’s become in her life.

-

That night, Brienne actually has plans for once. It’s Loras’s birthday and he’s having a big gathering at a local bar called The Red Keep. Brienne knows that Renly, Margaery, and Asha will be there but isn’t sure who else was invited. And she most certainly doesn’t select an outfit for the evening with the thought that anyone in particular might see her in it. She  _ definitely _ doesn’t wonder what Jaime would think about it. She wears a loose navy top with a kind of cocoon shape to it. It is oversized and buttons up the front but is still feminine because of the material and low neckline. She pairs it with skin-tight gray jeans, leather sandals, and a tomato red lipstick. 

Standing on the street outside her building waiting for a cab, the wind whips her hair around her face and she feels something like hope bubbling inside her. She might actually be eager for a social gathering for the first time in years. She clutches her too-tiny purse and waits.

The bar is enormous, taking up an entire city block, with all sorts of different spaces tucked away inside. Brienne winds her way through the throngs of beautiful 20-somethings crowding the indoor bars until she makes her way to an open-air courtyard. Loras’s gathering is in the private patio area called The Godswood. Brienne looks around the big open space, full of tables and strung-up lights, but almost no people. She checks her watch and it’s a perfectly reasonable three minutes after party start time.  _ Gosh, she’s a nerd.  _   


But before long the space fills with celebratory friends and colleagues. She doesn’t know most of the people here. There are a few other coaches present...but not all of them. Brienne gets wrapped up in various conversations as the night gets under way. Asha asks her more about GoldenGlove79. Margaery tells her about some of the attention she’s gotten from Brienne’s news story. Renly asks her about her breakup with Hyle, who he always hated.

As Loras prattles on about the tacky centerpieces at some fundraiser he helped organize, Brienne scans the room. It’s a huge group of pretty people sipping fancy drinks and talking in small clusters. She sees Addam Marbrand pulling his boyfriend through the crowd. She spies Oberyn sharing an outdoor lounger with an incredibly attractive woman—sitting close and sharing secrets. She notices a fellow coach, Mance Rayder of the Freefolk Wildlings, nursing a beer at a table alone. And then, suddenly, he’s there.

Jaime enters the party with a pair of people: a dapper man with dwarfism and a pretty woman, curvy and on the shorter side. Jaime looks...well, perfect. He looks perfect and it’s annoying. His gray knit blazer and dark buttoned up shirt look trendy without being too young. He glides through the crowd with the kind of confidence that Brienne has always envied. He stops occasionally to shake hands or exchange hellos but he makes, basically, a beeline straight to Brienne and her friends.

“Hi,” Jaime says, looking at Brienne and no one else. His gaze feels hot. Like, suddenly, their party is under a heat lamp.

“Hi,” she squeaks back. She nibbles on her lower lip, nervously, and unless she’s imagining things, Jaime’s eyes fall down to her mouth and linger there. He looks momentarily stunned.

Breaking the tension and turning to the guest of honor, Jaime says “Happy birthday, Loras. Did you get that pony you asked for?” 

“Is that a dig about me being young…?” Loras trails off, shaking his head at Jaime’s confusing joke.

“Brienne, this is my brother Tyrion and his wife, Tysha.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Brienne says, shaking both of their hands. Maybe everybody else knows each other already and that’s why Jaime hadn't introduced them to the others.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jaime asks, gesturing to Brienne’s empty glass. She kind of raises her eyebrows and looks around at her friends.  _ He is talking to just me. Why? _

“Yeah, sure, okay. A negroni?”

“Okay, then,” Jaime replies, with an air of being impressed. He turns and walks toward the bar on the far side of the patio.

“Coach Brienne,” Tyrion addresses her, strangely using her title and first name. His tone makes it sound like a formal greeting from days of yore. “It’s good to  _ finally _ meet you. I liked your news story. Especially the digs at my dear brother.”

Brienne blushes and stammers out a “good to meet you, too.” Then,  _ thank the gods _ , Tysha swoops in to fill the awkwardness with pleasant small talk. When Jaime returns he has her negroni, cocktails for his brother and sister-in-law, and a beer for himself. He hands out the drinks and Tyrion and Tysha make a hasty getaway. The whole situation is so unusual, Brienne tries not to overthink it.  _ Just be cool, she thinks.  _

“So that’s your brother?” she says.  _ Yes. Super cool, Brienne. It’s exactly as he said just moments ago. _

“Yeah, my little brother. Did he say anything weird to you? He’s super smart but he can tend to talk. At length. About everything. My sister used to say that Tyrion was ‘full of stories half heard and very badly told.’ It’s a line from  _ The Jungle Book _ .”

“ _ The Jungle Book _ ?”

“Why did you say that like a question? Surely you read  _ The Jungle Book _ as a kid. Or saw at least one of the different film adaptations? It’s crazy famous.”

“I don’t know it,” she says, shrugging.

“You’re killing me, Smalls. You  _ have _ to see it. Maybe you can come over for Nieces & Nephews Movie Night sometime and we’ll watch it.” 

Brienne kind of ducks her head at the not-quite-an-invitation and is sure she must be blushing horribly. Hopefully it’s dark enough that he doesn’t notice. There’s also something about his suggestion that registers in the back of her mind as familiar. Something about what he says gives her a kind of memory—not exactly deja vu, but similar.

Jaime barely leaves her side for at least an hour and a half. They talk about Little League and King's Landing restaurants they love, the island of Tarth and their time playing pro ball. It’s easy and fun. Jaime is witty and a good listener. At one point he fetches another round of drinks, and when she takes hers, their fingers brush and it feels like she’s been scorched. It's hard to understand the rush of feelings she's having as a result of Jaime's attentions. She doesn’t know why he’s sticking so close to her this evening and, statistically-speaking, knows she shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. 

A very pretty woman that Brienne doesn’t recognize approaches Jaime and they start chatting. Before she even has a chance to take a sip of her drink, Asha and Margaery descend on her—pulling her off, away from the crowd.

“What’s up, lady-friend?” Margaery says, in lieu of hello—adding as much innuendo as possible to those few little words. 

“Lady-friend? Who talks like that?” Brienne attempts to deflect though she knows it won’t work.

“I’m sorry, are you annoyed that someone other than Lannister is seeking your attention?” Asha snarks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, B. Lannister is hot for you! I know I’ve been joking about it but I am fairly certain it’s not a joke.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Then why hasn’t he talked to anyone else all night?”

“He’s talking to someone right now!”   
  
“You know what we mean—stop playing dumb.”

_ Is _ she playing dumb? It feels like she’s being smart. Using a lifetime of data points and probabilities to project an outcome (just as she does as SapphireSlugger), she concludes that it’s too risky to assume anything without further evidence. There’s an off chance that she’s wrong, that Jaime Lannister could  _ actually _ be interested in her, but the current sample size of data doesn’t seem to support it. Tonight feels like a statistical outlier.

She’s still trying to redirect her friends to a different subject of conversation when Jaime approaches. 

“Sorry—I couldn’t get rid of her,” Jaime apologizes, putting his hand on Brienne’s arm and smiling sheepishly at her. He slides it down a little toward her elbow and the heat coming from his palm ironically sends shivers through her whole body. 

“That’s okay. I should go. It’s late.” Brienne feels panicky. 

“It’s 9:15,” Jaime huffs out with a teasing tone.

“I know. I— I don’t feel great.”  _ As I may be about to pass out,  _ she thinks.

“Ah, okay. It was good to see you, to hang out more.” He has such a sincere look on his face that she almost bursts out laughing. 

She nods dumbly and then starts to turn to go and her shoulder slams into his chest, as he had been coming in for a hug. 

“Oh!” she exclaims, stepping backwards, as he kind of makes an ‘oof’ sound. He laughs, embarrassed, and steps forward again, wrapping his arms around her strong back. He gives her a little squeeze and she tentatively puts her arms around him, too.

The stubble on his cheek briefly brushes her jawline. He smells like laundry detergent and beer. He pushes up on his tiptoes and his weight shifts into her. His breath is hot in her ear when he whispers, “Feel better, Coach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Imagining Jaime wearing something like this at the bar.](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3f/06/45/3f06458fae8b2ef010957922503a27bf.jpg) Gwen's outfit is an outfit of mine. I don't think I have a photo of it!
> 
> I'm going to bust my ass to get chapters up asap. I promised the organizers I'd post them all before the reveal. Sorry for the delay (truly). I'll give more context later but don't want to give myself away.


	7. Seventh Inning Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a sister meddles, the underdogs win a game, an unwelcome face from the past returns, and suspicions arise.

Jaime arrives a little early for their afternoon match-up against the Night's Watch Guards. There is still a game going on on the field, so he takes a seat in the bleachers. It’s a minute before he realizes that Brienne’s team is at bat. They’re playing Craster’s Kids, so maybe they actually have a shot at winning. Craster’s team is literally made up of all of his _own_ kids—it’s creepy as fuck. 

The game is running long—it’s only in the top of the fifth—and soon enough, more of the Lions arrive. Cersei is actually with her kids for a change. She sets up her chair and an enormous sun umbrella near the home dugout. Jaime heads over and they eventually have a whole crew gathered: Jaime, Cersei, Tommen and Myrcella, Tyrion and Tysha, the twins, Addam, and his son Damon. As they head to the bottom of the inning, Brienne takes to the field with her team. She approaches first base and spots Jaime. She gives him a slight smile and conciliatory wave. 

“Do you know that beast?” Cersei asks, disdain clear in both her words and tone. 

“That’s the woman Uncle Jaime is in love with!” Tommen calls out. _Loudly._

Jaime’s eyes go wide and he looks around in panic. Luckily it doesn’t seem like his nephew projected enough for Brienne herself to hear. Tyrion and Tysha look gobsmacked. Myrcella and Genna are giggling and Cersei seems offended. Addam appears far too amused.

“Great, thanks, Addam.”

“It wasn’t me,” Addam says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t even know this was still a thing. Did you tell her you’re GoldenGloveWhatever?”

Jaime’s guilt makes him pause for just long enough to allow Tyrion to ask, “Why would he need to tell Brienne his Twitter handle?”

“She’s SapphireSlugger. J didn’t tell you?” Addam, again, looks very pleased to have a front row seat to Jaime’s public unraveling.

“Addam!”

“Brother—it’s pretty obvious that you’re obsessed with Brienne, regardless of whether you’re sliding into her DMs on Twitter.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Jaime sulks.

“Sorry, are we talking about that enormous woman on the field? Jaime, dear, you can’t be serious.”

“Alright. alright. Everyone can just mind their own business. And please! Keep your voices down.” _For fuck's sake. His fucking family._

-

Brienne’s team pulls out their first win of the season—a 4-1 victory over Craster’s Kids. The team’s ecstatic, jumping all over the place and high-fiving each other. Brienne hoists Arya up in the air and onto her shoulders like the young Stark girl weighs nothing. Jaime tries to pretend that that doesn’t do something to him, and makes his way to the Bears’ dugout.

“Good game, Brienne. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” she beams, looking every bit the proud coach. “Sorry it ran long—you’re probably eager to take the field. We’ll clear out.”

“It’s fine. That’s not why I came over here. I— uh, they— there are new batting cages that opened over on the other side of town, near the King’s Gate. They’re supposed to be top-of-the-line or whatever. I was wondering if, you know, you missed hitting and, uh, wanted to take some hacks. With me.” _Gods, why can’t he just be normal?_

“Yes. I mean, sure. That sounds fun.”

“Great. Friday after work? It’s a d— uh, it’ll be good, yeah. Fun. For sure.” _For the love of the Seven, you are a grown man. Why is this so terribly difficult?_

 _Friday._ Friday Jaime is going to tell Brienne that he’s GoldenGlove79. He makes a swift exit before he can say anything else stupid or incriminating.

-

Later that day, he sends a quick note to SapphireSlugger and hours later she still hasn’t responded. That hasn’t happened since their first weeks of corresponding and it causes an uneasiness in Jaime that he’s not sure is warranted. His stomach feels like it’s sinking and he feels jumpy, like something bad is looming.

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Sorry for the delay. I just have a lot going on.  
April 25, 2020, 8:48 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You want to tell me about it?   
April 25, 2020, 8:52 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** We won a game today. I don’t think I told  
you but my team isn’t that great. I mean,  
that’s an understatement. They’re fairly  
terrible. It’s sweet but nerve-wracking.   
April 25, 2020, 8:59 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Nerve-wracking?   
April 25, 2020, 9:01 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** At the beginning of the season, we found  
out that the team who comes in last in the  
league is going to be cut. Basically they  
don’t want to fund and organize as many  
teams as there are, so they’re going to take  
the last place team, disband them, and split  
them across the other teams. I coach a team  
that’s at risk of being broken up. I’m trying  
to stop that from happening.  
April 25, 2020, 9:09 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
**Oh, gods, I’m sorry. That’s an unusually  
tough burden to carry on top how hard it is  
just being a coach. I mean, I’d imagine.   
April 25, 2020, 9:11 PM

Jaime had somehow missed that they were going to cut a team this season. He makes Addam deal with Baelish and all of the league’s bureaucratic bullshit. Addam must have thought it wasn’t information worth Jaime’s time, since the Lions would obviously not be at risk.

 **SapphireSlugger  
** It is. On top of that, I’m also dealing with  
some changes in a personal relationship.  
I thought there was nothing there but I  
might be wrong and need to figure it out.  
If I’m totally honest, I don’t know what it  
means for you and me. I guess I still don’t  
know what this is. We haven’t met and I’m  
starting to worry that maybe we never will.  
April 25, 2020, 9:18 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I promise I want to. Soon. But I can  
understand. You need to do what’s best  
for you—I just want you to be happy.  
April 25, 2020, 9:22 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Thank you for that.   
April 25, 2020, 9:23 PM

 _Fuck._ It sounded like Brienne might be considering getting back together with her ex. Jaime’s glad she agreed to the date on Friday, It means he still has a shot. He just has to get it all right—not act like a total doofus. He had typed out and deleted his last message to her about 12 times. He didn’t think that “I might be falling in love with you. Also: I’m Jaime Lannister. See you Friday!” would go over very well.

-

On Monday afternoon, Jaime’s sitting in his office at Lannister Corp, leaning back in the fancy ergonomic chair with his feet up on his desk. He’s trying to spin a pen around in his hand. He used to be able to do this trick where he twirled a pen over his right thumb, but he hasn’t mastered it with his left hand yet. It’s been the most pressing thing on his schedule since lunch. He’s making decent headway when his intercom buzzes. 

“Mr. Lannister? You’re sister’s here to see you. She says she doesn’t need an appointment.” Jaime’s assistant sounds nervous. Five seconds with his sister will do that to a person.

“Jeyne, tell her that I’m busy and that if she wants to—” but Cersei waltzes into the room before he can even finish his sentence.

“Brother, I’m sorry but this is an emergency,” she says in a tone that belies her words. 

“Of course it is. What do you need, Cers? Does Myrcella need a dress for a school dance and you don’t have time to take her shopping? Tommen bring home another stray kitten?”

“It’s about that woman Tom says you’re interested in.”

“What?” Jaime asks—genuinely confused.

“I’m sorry, Jaime, but you need to end things with her.”

Jaime just stares at his sister, waiting for her to continue. She can’t possibly have interrupted his work day just to spout ridiculous nonsense that’s none of her business.

“What right do you have—”

“Look, she’s not suitable for a Lannister. She doesn’t have the kind of pedigree expected of our family. Father would definitely not approve. Tyrion’s already done his best to sully the family name by marrying someone of so little consequence. But at least Tysha is sweet and invisible. That _coach_ is an embarrassment,” she says with malice. When Jaime starts to protest, Cersei holds up one perfectly manicured finger. “Besides,” she says, “you don’t have time for a relationship. You have obligations to this family.” She delivers this diatribe with a certainty of fact. As if explaining something to an underling at work.

“I’m sorry, are you just worried that I won’t have time to parent your children for you if I have a girlfriend?” Jaime’s anger at the situation is starting to overtake his amusement at his sister’s gall.

“Girlfriend?” Cersei scoffs. “Please. Being a ‘friend’ is all a girl like that is good for.” 

“Excuse me? What the fu—” Jaime stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry but why should I listen to you? What right to an opinion do you have over who I date?” Jaime asks, expectantly.

“I regret that you see it that way, Jaime, but I can make life very difficult for you both. This girl doesn’t know that you’re 69 Gold Gloves or whatever, right? I’d hate for her to find out that you’ve been lying to her for weeks. Playing her for a fool.” His sister paces the office—her high-heeled pumps echoing on the marble floor. “I also happen to know that she’s starting a new job soon. And that she needs for her team not to place last in the league. I don’t want to have to do anything untoward, but I will. To protect what’s mine, I will.”

“Me? I’m yours? To manipulate and control? And you get to decide what’s best for me—what I need?” Jaime starts to be alarmed. 

“Jaime, darling. You don’t know what you need. And you don’t know what she needs. You think that her lot in life is going to be improved by being associated with the notorious Kingslayer? Tied to a washed-up ball player with one hand? Please. If you know what’s best for everyone involved, you’ll stay away.” Cersei delivers her speech with a calmness that should communicate care but instead betrays a ruthlessness lying under just the surface.

She leaves with the same air of confidence and superiority that she floated in on. Jaime knows Cersei, and he knows the lengths she'll go to when she feels threatened. He’s seen her destroy people before—he just never thought he’d see her turn it on him. Jaime knows that she won’t hesitate to tell Brienne the truth about GoldenGlove before he has a chance to. She’ll insult Brienne and make her feel like a fool and it’ll be just like that college bet Brienne mentioned. She’ll think it’s one big ruse, Cersei would make certain of it. Jaime feels trapped. He knows Cersei is being selfish, asserting her own agenda, but wouldn’t pursuing Brienne be a case of _him_ being selfish? 

Jaime doesn’t want Brienne’s job or team threatened. He's seen how important the team is to her, and to the kids, and he can't do that to them—he can’t put it all at risk. He doesn’t want Brienne getting even the slightest sense that anything is amiss. She doesn’t deserve all the baggage he comes with—the notoriety, his sister, his father. Despite his best intentions, he can't help but bring his toxic family into everything he does. Brienne doesn’t deserve that and he doesn’t deserve her. 

Jaime texts Cersei. “You win.”

-

On Tuesday, Jaime heads to the field for practice. It’s hot for a spring day and the air is thick and muggy. He’s already a little sweaty by the time he gets to the Lions’ assigned field. Brienne’s team is there, eating a post-practice snack—chatting and laughing, some of them rough-housing or running around. Brienne is talking to her assistant coach, Davos Seaworth, and to Catelyn Stark, who must be the team parent. As Jaime reluctantly approaches, Catelyn gives him a dirty look before excusing herself and starting to shepherd Starks. Brienne looks over her shoulder and spots Jaime. She turns and gives him a lopsided smile.

She looks like an ad for Nike, dusting off her hands as she takes large, purposeful steps towards him. She’s wearing her Bears cap, black leggings, and a cropped gray tank spotted with perspiration. He can see her black sports bra through the gaping armholes of the tank. Her stomach is flat and tight but her thighs are rounded with muscle. She looks like a purpose-built machine and Jaime is pretty sure he audibly gulps.

“Coach Lannister,” she drawls. It comes out slow and flirty. Jaime feels faint. This is going to be harder than he even imagined.

“Coach Tarth. Your team has come a long way,” he says, nodding to the kids.

“They’re alright. They still have a lot to learn.”

“I’m sure you’ll teach them.” _Oh my god, get on with it, Jaime._

“I’m looking forward to Friday!” She says cheerfully. She looks sweet and hopeful and younger than her 32 years when she says it. _Fuck._

“Actually, I meant to talk to you about that. I’m not sure…” He pauses, looking around, begging the Seven for the resolve he needs. “I don’t think...I can’t see you on Friday.” 

“Oh.” She looks crestfallen. He can feel his heart breaking. He used to think that was just a metaphor but it feels very real. _You’re doing this for her own good. To protect her._

“I just...uh...something came up?” He suggests. 

“Is that a question? Look, if you don’t want to go…” 

“It’s not that. Really. I just...can’t.” Brienne’s gaze is steady but she looks hurt.

“I understand. Well, I don’t, but,” and she shrugs. A sort of defeated ‘but I’m not surprised’ shrug. “Maybe some other time?” 

“I hope so.” _You don't deserve her._

She nods in acceptance and Jaime escapes to join Addam, standing near the away dugout.

“Who died?” Addam prods, when Jaime sighs and drops his duffle bag with a thud. 

Straightening his posture and raising his chin, Jaime exhales loudly through his nose and frowns. “Possibly me.”

-

Jaime gets home and drops his things in the foyer: keys on the entryway table, jacket and bag in a pile on the floor, shoes kicked in opposite directions. In a lot of ways, he still behaves as though he’s a professional athlete. Hurried and scattered, he unintentionally acts as if he’s too busy and too important for the little things.

He heads to his bedroom and strips off his dusty practice gear. In the shower, he tries to let the water wash it all away, to turn him back into the man he was before he met Brienne. If only for the duration of his shower, he wishes he could go back to a time before everything felt so fragile. It was bad enough when the only thing he was struggling with was the “two Jaimes” and his guilt over knowing the truth. Now he has to deal with the fact that it’s over. Over before it ever really got started. ****Jaime’s drying himself off when his phone dings from his nightstand.

> **Tyrion:** Addam said you were whining like a particularly small child at practice today. 
> 
> **Jaime:** Since when do you and Addam text?
> 
> **Tyrion:** Since, thanks to you, we became unwitting side characters in a rom-com. 
> 
> **Jaime:** What do you want Tyrion?
> 
> **Tyrion:** I thought YOU might like to grab a beer. Talk to a friend. But if you’re going to be a dick...
> 
> **Jaime:** Bronn’s in half an hour?
> 
> **Tyrion:** Already here. See you in 30.

When Jaime gets to Bronn’s, he finds Tyrion sitting at the bar with his laptop open and papers spread around. He climbs on the stool next to his younger brother and the bartender, who is blessedly not Bronn, takes his order.

“Brother,” Tyrion greets him, shutting his laptop and starting to collect his things. “I was just catching up on some work. Let me put this stuff away and you can tell me all of your woes.”

“My woes? I’m fine Tyrion.”

“I’ve heard otherwise. I heard you dumped your lady coach.”

“My _lady_ coach?” Jaime shakes his head in disbelief. “ I— yes, I cancelled our date.” Elbows resting on the bar, his head drops into his hands.

“Why? Because you’re scared that she has the hots for online Jaime but thinks IRL Jaime is a creep?”

“Thank you, no. I cancelled because Cersei threatened to destroy Brienne and also reminded me that I don’t even remotely deserve her.” 

“Ah, our sweet sister—always looking out. So you need a strategy for disarming Cersei, and for convincing Brienne that GoldenGlove is a pretentious douche and that you’re fantastic.”

“What? This isn’t a...I’m not trying to trick Brienne. I’m not trying to _anything_ Brienne now. I need a plan for letting her down gently. Tyrion, I actually like this woman. I barely recognized it at first, because it feels so unfamiliar. And I’m worried that I’ll fuck up her life by association. So the disreputable Jaime Lannister is bowing out.”

“Ugh, don’t get all maudlin—you haven’t even finished your first beer. Let’s do shots and you can regale me with the very great pleasures which a pair of fine eyes can bestow. Then we’ll come up with a drunken plan-of-action. It’ll be brilliant.”

Tyrion turns out to be little help besides his open tab at the bar and his willingness to play witness to Jaime’s lamentations about love. Jaime leaves with the same not-quite-a-plan as he had before: distance himself, despite how badly it hurts.

————————————————

Brienne is disappointed over Jaime cancelling their plans. Actually, that’s a huge understatement. She is borderline devastated. The crush on Jaime that she’s been downplaying for weeks has finally grown to a point that she can’t ignore it. She’d been confused at first because she’s worried that she might be merging Jaime with GoldenGlove79 in her head. There’s so much overlap in the way that they communicate and the timing of them entering her life, she’s been concerned that maybe that’s why she’s so attracted to Jaime. That Jaime might be a physical stand in for GoldenGlove. 

But, against all possible logic, it had seemed like Jaime might be into her, too. She'd been walking on a high after he'd asked her to go to the batting cages and then GoldenGlove had reached out and she'd felt torn. She wasn’t ready to end things with him yet, but that relationship was feeling less and less real every day. So she'd told him about Jaime. 

And then Jaime cancelled.

Brienne feels more confused than ever—and more helpless. She never lets herself be this out of control. She generally keeps all of her decisions and options simple and straight-forward. She feels ill-prepared to deal with the uncertainty of what comes next. 

She decides on a simple two-step plan of distraction and self-care. First, she spends the entire next day cleaning her apartment from baseboards to light fixtures. She dusts and mops and organizes and purges. Her home hasn’t been this clean since she moved in. She feels calm and centered scrubbing her bathroom sink and rearranging her bookshelves.

Step two? Call in reinforcements.

> **Brienne:** I need a margarita and a pep talk. Can you come over for dinner tomorrow night? 

On Thursday, Asha and Margaery arrive at Brienne’s with a big bag of limes and a handle of tequila . They offer up their usual brand of snarky support and it makes Brienne feel a little bit better. The alcohol makes her feel a _lot_ better. When the other women finally call cabs to drag their drunk asses home, Brienne makes the possibly-misguided decision to pull up Twitter.

 **SapphireSlugger  
** What are you doing?  
April 30, 2020, 10:29 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Hi to you, too. I’m just lying on the couch,  
watching some old highlight reels of a  
favorite player of mine.  
April 30, 2020, 10:31 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I wish I was there.  
April 30, 2020, 10:32 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You wish you were here? At my house?  
April 30, 2020, 10:33 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I’m good at lying on couches and watching  
videos.  
April 30, 2020, 10:34 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Oh, really?   
April 30, 2020, 10:34 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I’m a little drunk.   
April 30, 2020, 10:35 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You’re a little drunk and want to come lay  
on a couch with me?  
April 30, 2020, 10:36 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Yeah, that sounds good.   
April 30, 2020, 10:37 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** It does, doesn’t it? What else would we do?  
If you came over to watch videos?  
April 30, 2020, 10:39 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Hmm, we could watch the 2000 Westeros  
Series - Gold Cloaks vs. Kingsguard.   
April 30, 2020, 10:40 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I remember it well. That game is a classic.  
It makes me nostalgic for where I was at  
that time.  
April 30, 2020, 10:41 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Nostalgic? Really? What were you doing  
in 2000?  
April 30, 2020, 10:42 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Playing college ball.   
April 30, 2020, 10:43 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Were you any good?  
April 30, 2020, 10:44 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I was alright. What are you wearing?  
April 30, 2020, 10:45 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** What?  
April 30, 2020, 10:45 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** What are you going to wear to come to  
my house to watch videos?  
April 30, 2020, 10:46 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Why?  
April 30, 2020, 10:46 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
**Just curious.   
April 30, 2020, 10:47 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Nothing comes to mind.  
April 30, 2020, 10:48 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Nothing? Wow. I think I’m going to pass out.  
April 30, 2020, 10:50 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** You could put on some music.  
April 30, 2020, 10:51 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** How would that help me?  
April 30, 2020, 10:52 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I mean when I come over to watch videos.  
What would you put on to set the mood?  
April 30, 2020, 10:53 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** I don’t know. Kind of depends on what  
you wear. I need to read the room.  
April 30, 2020, 10:54 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Nice try.  
April 30, 2020, 10:54 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Fine. Probably something easy. Maybe a  
little Foreigner or Air Supply.   
April 30, 2020, 10:55 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** So, some solid 80s power ballads.  
April 30, 2020, 10:56 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** You can’t go wrong with a little Peter Cetera.  
April 30, 2020, 10:57 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** I think I need another drink.  
April 30, 2020, 10:58 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** What are you drinking? Negronis?  
April 30, 2020, 10:59 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Why would you assume that?  
April 30, 2020, 10:59 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Wild guess. You seem like the negroni type.  
This date is all very PG, you know?  
April 30, 2020, 11:00 PM

 **SapphireSlugger  
** Over Twitter it is, yes.  
April 30, 2020, 11:01 PM

 **GoldenGlove79  
** Promises, promises.  
April 30, 2020, 11:02 PM

No, she thinks, setting her phone down. There’s no way. _It can’t be._

She can _not_ have been talking to Jaime Lannister all this time. 

-

The following Saturday, Brienne’s team has a game against the Highgarden Roses. She’s excited to play Loras’s team, knowing it will be fun, even if the Bears don’t stand a chance of winning. Everything starts off great—she gets to chat with Margaery for a bit before the game, and is introduced to Olenna Tyrell, the matriarch of the Tyrell family, head of Highgarden Beauty, and Margaery and Loras’s grandmother. She seems like a trip. Jaime is in the crowd, sitting in the stands with Tommen. He seems to be everywhere these days. She has stopped questioning his presence at her games, due to sheer frequency, but now...now she’s questioning everything. 

The match-up is going pretty much as expected. The Roses are beating them but the Bears are holding their own. It’s not embarrassing and the team is having fun. Brienne’s enjoying herself, too—coaching her kids and chatting with friends—when she notices a disturbance in the bleachers. When she looks over, she sees Hyle Hunt sitting there, basically right in front of Jaime. He waves sweetly at her, as though she’ll be happy to see him, and Brienne blanches. Jaime says something to her ex and they engage in a brief conversation. Brienne can’t hear anything but her stomach drops.

When Brienne and Hyle dated, she used to worry what people would think when they saw them together. Her height and awkward looks standing in stark contrast to Hyle, who blended in wherever he went. But, now, seeing Hyle next to Jaime, she almost laughs. He is so plain and unremarkable, it almost becomes noteworthy in it’s ordinariness. Brienne may not be beautiful, but she’s certainly not _ordinary_. 

After the game, Hyle approaches her. She’s saying goodbye to players and parents and he just kind of hovers. When she’s finally ready to deal with him, she steals herself and takes one big, calming breath. 

“What are you doing here, Hyle?”

“That was a great game. You looked good out there.”

“What are you doing here, Hyle?” she begins again, with almost no change in tone.

“I want to get back together. Come home. I’m sure you can get some job at a high school there, too. You said there wasn’t anyone else and—be real—that’s not likely to change. Just come back with me to Storm’s End.”

“Hyle, you can’t just show up here and _insult me_ and expect me to drop everything!”

She’s about to really lose her shit when all of the sudden, Jaime is at her side. He slips his arm around her sweaty lower back and pulls her close. His arm is hard and steadying, his hand, firm on her hip.

“Hey, babe—great game,” he practically purrs before kissing her on the cheek. He reaches his right, prosthetic, hand out to Hyle to shake. “Hi, I’m Jaime Lannister.”

“The Kingslayer? You’ve got to be kidding,” Hyle sputters.

“Well, you can just call me ‘Jaime.’ Anyway, Brie, I just wanted to remind you that I have that thing in a half an hour so I can’t stay long. When you finish up with whoever this is, meet me at the car.”

Jaime squeezes her waist just a touch, gives her the most devastating smile, and saunters off. He seems to pull a little extra swagger in it for Hyle. Brienne, for her part, just stands there frozen. She hasn’t moved a muscle since Jaime kissed her. She doesn’t even remember blinking or breathing. 

“No way you’re dating the Kingslayer.” Hyles arms are crossed, stance wide, as if anything could make him look tough or big. 

“Hyle, just leave.”

Brienne spins on her heels and stalks away. She gathers up her things and never looks back. As she’s striding across the park, her adrenaline surges, moving from anger at Hyle to...whatever she’s feeling about Jaime right now. She reaches up and touches her cheek. 

If Jaime is GoldenGlove79, he must have known for weeks now that she is SapphireSlugger. She didn’t get stood up that night at Shae’s. He was there. So why hasn’t he said anything? If things were different—if he didn’t seem interested now _as Jaime_ , and had stopped writing to her as GoldenGlove79—she’d get it. But if anything, stuff has gotten more intense since that night.

On the far side of the lot, Jaime is leaning on the hood of his car looking at his phone. He looks like the star of an action film. 

“That was an impressive bit of acting,” she says, approaching the handsome man and his lavish vehicle. 

“Acting? Ah, well, yes. At first I didn’t even see him. He’s so average that he’s nearly invisible. It’s like he’s camouflaged in mediocrity. But then I heard the shitty way he was talking to you.”

Brienne laughs. “Well, thank you, but you didn’t have to do that. I can handle him.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it, but it was too much fun to resist. I’m sorry if I ruined anything for you,” he says, not looking sorry in the least. 

“Ruined anything?”

“I thought maybe you were thinking of getting back together with him.”

“With Hyle?! Oh, gods no,” Brienne grimaces. 

“Oh, okay. Good.” He looks so much like he means it, smiling a little, looking at her openly. She sucks in a deep breath through her nose a little too quickly and feels lightheaded. She gives him a shy nod and agrees: “Yeah, good.” _Say something,_ she thinks. _Tell him now. Tell him that you know._

“Jaime, I— there’s something I need to tell you,” she starts. _I know you’re GoldenGlove79 and I know that you know I’m SapphireSlugger_. “I’m not planning to get back together with Hyle but there is someone. A guy. Online.” 

“Oh?” Jaime perks up—looking a little...surprised? Maybe just caught-off-guard.

“Yeah, we just...we’ve been talking for awhile now and I thought you should know.” _What in the hells? He clearly likes you—just put it all out there._

“Okay. I can appreciate that. I hope it works out for you.” 

_The hell? Is she wrong? Does she have this all wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The pen trick Jaime was trying to master, if you want to learn it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loZgDadZjzA)
> 
> Also, just a quick thank you to my beta who was extra helpful this chapter (when it wasn't convenient for her to do so). There's a couple of good lines in here that are hers. Also, a big thanks to another fandom friend who I'll name later who's been super helpful reading my drafts and helping with some of the struggles I've had (and offering up a boatload of enthusiasm).
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been following along with this WIP!


	8. Swing for the Fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's deal with all of this nonsense! Get the meddling sister out of the way, fight through a lifetime of insecurities, and go meet our mystery online suitor that's anything but a mystery! Let's do this thing!

So far Jaime’s done a real bang-up job of staying away from Brienne. That is, if one night of extremely flirty DMing and some inappropriate touching after her last game counts as ‘staying away.’ Hopefully Cersei doesn’t get wind of the latter. She luckily doesn’t have any way of tracking Jaime’s private Twitter activity.  _ Surely.  _

But after those two incidents, he had been good. He'd avoided her at practice earlier this week and today on gameday. It was hard to see her across the field and not go to her. It was hard to knowingly skip that flood of joy he gets from riling her up or making her laugh—her blue eyes looking at him with amused scrutiny, like she doesn't know what to make of him. It was hard not just to say ‘fuck it.’ He tries to keep reminding himself that this is for her own good. Clearly not his but  _ hers.  _

At least once today, it had seemed like she'd almost approached him but she had stopped herself with an odd expression on her face. Then, tonight, while he was in the kitchen boiling water for pasta, she'd started writing him.

**SapphireSlugger  
** Do you miss playing ball?  
May 9, 2020, 7:21 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Playing ball?  
May 9, 2020, 7:23 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** The majors? Do you miss the majors?  
You must.  
May 9, 2020, 7:24 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** How did you know I played professional  
baseball? Did I tell you that?  
May 9, 2020, 7:26 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I surmised.  
May 9, 2020, 7:27 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Yeah, I miss it. I miss everything about it.  
Even the small things. The locker room  
chatter, pre-game rituals, the smell of new  
balls. The intense heat of a day game.  
May 9, 2020, 7:30 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I miss it, too. I can still feel it in me. I can  
feel the game in my muscles. In certain  
ways my body moves. I can still hear the  
din of the crowd and feel the protection  
of my catcher’s mask.  
May 9, 2020, 7:32 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** You played pro? Why did you stop?  
May 9, 2020, 7:33 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** My dad died and I was just feeling a little  
disillusioned. Thinking about how I didn’t  
have any family left and that if I kept  
playing ball, maybe my window for meeting  
someone and starting a family might close.  
May 9, 2020, 7:36 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Is that what you want? A family? More than  
playing ball?  
May 9, 2020, 7:37 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I think so. I can sort of imagine it—even  
though it sounds really foreign. And I don’t  
want to be alone forever.  
May 9, 2020, 7:39 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** No, me neither.  
May 9, 2020, 7:40 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I thought you once told me you liked being  
on your own.  
May 9, 2020, 7:41 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** That was when we first started talking and  
I needed to appear at least 25% more  
“together” than I am. You said you were  
good on your own, too.  
May 9, 2020, 7:43 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I’ve changed my mind.  
May 9, 2020, 7:44 PM

Jaime smiles and tries to think of how he’ll respond but he’s jolted alert when he hears a loud hiss. The water’s boiled over on the stove and he has to scramble to turn down the heat. 

He doesn’t know how to cut it off with SapphireSlugger. He doesn’t want to ghost on her and he doesn’t want to completely remove Brienne from his life. But at the same time, eventually she’s going to suggest meeting again and what is he going to do? Say “my sister said I can’t?”  _ Fuck this is stupid.  _

Jaime runs it all over and over in his head, endlessly circling the problem. The more he looks at it—from any and every possible angle—the more ridiculous it all starts to seem.

-

A couple of days later he pops into Bronn’s to grab some take out and Brienne is there, dining with the Starks. There are balloons and a small pile of presents at one end of the table. Ned Stark is wearing a silly party hat and looking none too pleased about it. Jaime, by contrast, is highly amused by Ned’s current situation. 

Jaime heads to the bar and is waiting for his order when a large hand is laid softly on his shoulder. He knows it’s her without needing to turn around. He takes a minute just to feel it. One deep breath in, one out. All of his energy focused on that single point of contact. When his chest feels so tight it might burst, he finally swivels in his seat and finds her standing there. Close. 

“Hi.” She says, looking down at him. Her eyelashes flutter a couple of times, making Jaime feel woozy.

“Hi.” 

“I haven’t seen you much lately.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Here to celebrate the birthday boy?” He tries for levity. He’s pretty sure he hits ‘stilted.’

She laughs softly. “Oh, yeah. He’s loving it. Can’t you tell?”

“He looks positively thrilled.”

“Um, listen. I should get back, but, I— I miss seeing you. I didn’t realize how much you annoying me had become a part of the fabric of my life here in King’s Landing.” She gives him a nervous chuckle, avoiding his gaze. 

“I miss you, too,” he says, with as much meaning as he feels and it draws her eyes to his. 

She pauses before saying, “I better get back.” She doesn’t wait for a response from him, but returns to her seat at Catelyn’s side. 

Jaime’s order is up. It’s handed to him with some excessive and unnecessary eyebrow wiggling from Bronn. When Jaime moves to leave, Brienne turns and gives him a timid smile and a wave, and his entire resolve cracks completely in half.

-

The next day he’s standing in Cersei’s office at Lannister Corp. She heads up Marketing and Communications so he doesn’t typically see her on a work day. Her office is so different from his—with its bright red Womb chairs and shiny white floors. She had it all custom done, it doesn't even feel like it's in the same building as his office space filled with leather and wood.

“I’m not doing it, Cers. I tried.” Jaime tosses his jacket over the back of a chair, and puts his hands on his hips, trying to affect a power stance he learned from some corporate training video he once had to sit through. 

“You clearly didn’t try very hard. It’s been, what, two weeks, Jaime?” Cersei rolls her eyes at him and returns to looking at the documents she’s leaning over. 

“A week and a half,” he says, defiantly.

“A week and a half,” she says, dismissively.

“Yes. I couldn’t even last a week and a half.” 

“Please. You’re not 14. You can keep it in your pants if you really want to.” He’ll never not be sick of the way she talks to him. Like he’s the stupidest person she’s ever had to deal with.

“That’s just it, Cersei—I  _ don’t _ want to! I want to tell her I’m interested in her.”

“Are you in love, brother? What do you know of love?” 

“Just because you’ve never felt it, that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.” He levels it at her, not trying to be mean, exactly, but trying to gain the upper hand. 

“Be that as it may, nothing has changed from before, Jaime. I haven’t changed  _ my _ mind.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I’ve changed Father’s.”

“Excuse me?” She looks so genuinely astounded that he feels a surge of pride.

Jaime leaned forward, his hands resting on her desktop. He brought his face about six inches closer to his sister’s. “I talked to Tywin. It turns out, I have more leverage than you, since he knows I don’t care about any of this—the company, my status, or the Lannister money. He and I are on the same page. He would rather have me dating than publicly known as a lifelong bachelor. Also, seeing as Uncle Kevyn sits on the League’s Board of Directors, he was none too pleased to find out that you were threatening to mess with one of the teams. He said you should expect to hear from him.” 

Jaime straightened up and reached for his jacket. Cersei just glared—narrowing her eyes to hide the fact that she knew she was beat. Jaime swanned out of her office. 

“Later, Cers,” he called over his shoulder. “Tell Myrcella to call me if she needs any help with her history homework.”

-

That night, riding a high from his “victory” over his sister, Jaime reaches out to Brienne.

**GoldenGlove79  
** You have a game on Saturday, right?  
May 13, 2020, 8:39 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Yes. At 1pm.  
May 13, 2020, 8:42 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Do you want to meet me afterwards?  
May 13, 2020, 8:43 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Seriously?  
May 13, 2020, 8:44 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** I’m dead serious. How about 5pm in the  
Crone’s Gardens? By the dahlias.  
May 13, 2020, 8:45 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Okay. I’ll be the tall blonde looking  
extremely nervous.  
May 13, 2020, 8:47 PM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Great. I’ll be the rakish gentleman looking  
tremendously hopeful.  
May 13, 2020, 8:48 PM

**SapphireSlugger  
** I can’t wait.  
May 13, 2020, 8:49 PM

Great. Perfect.  _ Holy fuck. _

-

Saturday is overcast. Jaime stands on the curb and looks skyward. It’s not supposed to rain but it feels like it, the air thick and stifling. He hadn't slept much last night, knowing that today was it. He's going to tell Brienne how he feels and she is going to find out that he’s GoldenGlove79. She’s probably going to be angry with him for hiding the truth for so long but that can’t be helped. Hopefully he can find the right words that will take the sting out of it. 

His car comes and he makes his way to the ballpark. Today the Lannister Lions play the Blackwater Bears for the second, and probably last, time this season, since the Bears are unlikely to make the playoffs. Jaime would be looking forward to it, if it weren’t for his forthcoming declaration—the anxiety is likely to temper any fun to be had on the field. Their game is early and Jaime is one of the first cars in the lot, but when he pulls in, he sees Asha unloading gear from her pickup truck. He parks near her and when he gets out, he calls out a greeting.

Asha gives him the strangest look. It’s…suspicion—she looks suspicious. She not-quite-waves back, holding up one unmoving hand before walking away.  _ Well that was odd. _

When Jaime gets to Field No. 4, he sees that Brienne is already there, setting up in the home dugout. He hadn’t noticed her car in the lot. The impressive figure that she cuts in her uniform sends a thrill through him as he drops his things on the opposing side of the field. He’d normally go to her. He’d make a couple jokes, trying to get her to break out that enormous laugh of hers, or tease her, hoping to spread a blush across her cheeks and neck. 

He doesn’t. He sits and waits for his players and their parents to arrive. He welcomes Addam with a solemnity that raises his assistant coach’s concern. He goes through the motions for the whole of the game. When the crowd loses its shit in the bottom of the 4th because the kid they call Hot Pie cracks a line drive between first and second, bringing in two runners for the Bears, Jaime barely notices. 

He spends the game running different kinds of plays. How does Brienne react if the first thing he says to her after the game is “I am GoldenGlove79?” What if he doesn’t tell her and instead tells her how he feels—as him, as Jaime Lannister? What does he do when she is disappointed? When she wishes she had been DMing with someone more…good? Someone more kind? Someone more  _ everything? _ What if he runs out of the game today without talking to her and just goes and waits in the Crone’s Gardens with a bouquet of dahlias and a string quartet playing.  _ Not really with the musicians—why do suitors always do that on tv shows? It’s so weird. _

The game wraps up 7-2 Lions and everyone seems quite pleased. Jaime barely remembers anything that happened the whole game. He goes through the motions, welcoming his players back to the dugout—dusting off shoulders, giving pats on the back. They form a line to bid the other team congratulations. When Jaime gets to Brienne, they shake hands, staring at each other ang clasping their hands tightly until Addam clears his throat from behind Jaime in line.

Jaime practically sprints away, leaving Addam and Brienne to shake hands in a less charged manner. He busies himself saying goodbye to players and parents, picking up equipment and litter left behind. He never even hears Brienne approach. 

“Good game,” she says, to his turned back.

  
  


————————————————

****  
  


It seems silly to wait to talk to Jaime until the meeting at the gardens, Brienne thinks. She will just go up to him and say her piece.  _ This might sound crazy but are you GoldenGlove79? _ She gathers up every drop of courage she has and stalks across the field to the visiting team’s dugout.

His back is to her. He surely must hear her approach but he doesn’t turn around.

“Good game,” she offers.

“Yeah, you, too. What are you up to now?” He still doesn’t turn.

“Well, actually, I have plans to meet that guy I was telling you about. The one from Twitter.” Her tone frames the last statement as a bit of a question.  _ Do you remember? It’s you, right? _

His voice is quiet. “Are you excited?” 

“I am. I’m nervous but excited.” 

At this, Jaime turns around. His face is soft and he looks more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him look.  _ Unless this is all projection,  _ she thinks.  _ Maybe I’m imagining his apprehension. _

“I hope you aren’t disappointed with him,” Jaime continues—sweet and earnest. “I’m sure he’s crazy about you.”

“How are you so sure?” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet for a moment before making eye contact with her. He looks so beautiful in this moment—in his Lions uniform, a streak of dirt across his cheek—she feels like she might be in a dream. That’s the only way this can be happening.

“I just can’t imagine otherwise. You’re strong and kind; smart and funny,” he pauses, tipping his head side to side, “in a dry sort of unfunny way,” he finishes, smirking a little. “You’re thoughtful and hardworking, and you see the good in people. That’s not always been true for me. The people around me are always looking to catalogue the worst of someone. It’s dark. And sad. I don’t want to be like that and you’re not.”

Jaime moves a step closer to her. She fights the instinct to back up, rooting her feet in the dirt. “And? You have the most astonishing eyes I’ve ever seen. Anyone would consider themselves lucky to get to look into them every day.” The look on his face is heated and Brienne can feel her whole body tense up. She nervously licks her lips and Jaime’s eyes go right to her mouth. She’s trying to figure out what to say when a loud “Uncle Jaaaaaaaaaiiiiiimmmeeeee!” rings out from behind the dugout and Myrcella and Tommen come bounding around the corner. 

“I— I have to go,” he says. “I need to get them home. I’ll see you. Later.”

She just nods, biting her tongue.  _ Right, later.  _ If it is him—if Jaime is, in fact, GoldenGlove79 like she believes him to be—this isn’t the place to have this conversation, anyway, with Tommen and Myrcella waiting on him. If she’s wrong...well, she guesses she’ll find out in about an hour. 

Brienne makes her way back to her apartment in record time. She heads to the kitchen and pours a large glass of wine. The clock reads 3:17. It will take her about 30 minutes to get to the Park of the Seven, whether she walks or takes the train. That leaves her one hour and thirteen minutes to get ready—about an hour longer than she needs. 

Brienne takes a hot shower, dragging it out to waste time. She wraps herself in a giant bath towel when she’s done, tucking the ends in to keep it secure. The mirror is fogged so she swipes her forearm across it, her reflection warped from the water droplets that cling to the shiny surface. She rarely looks at herself for too long, a habit developed young when the mirror reflected everyone else’s opinions more than her own. She combs her short hair and smooths moisturizer across her high forehead, bent nose, and angled jaw.

She studies her face and thinks how nearly impossible it seems that Jaime is GoldenGlove and that he is still interested in SapphireSlugger knowing that it’s Brienne. She briefly wonders, only half jokingly, if she somehow managed to open a wormhole at some point upon her arrival in King's Landing, and this is some sort of alternate reality. She can’t really deny their chemistry over Twitter, but she’s simply never been led to believe that her personality is enough for someone else. Throughout her whole life, her ill looks always seem to trump her good deeds in the eyes of other people—especially men.

But Jaime’s different.  _ Why is he different? _ He seems to see her as more than her face and the space she takes up. Maybe it’s because they met online at first, where she felt more comfortable being open and more free to make a joke—not at all worried that it might be used against her later.

Exiting the bathroom, she sets about the task of getting dressed. An activity that rarely fazes her—she knows what she likes and what suits her—but in this case, she stares blankly at her closet. What does one wear to meet someone for the first time who has actually seen you many times? Someone who has seen you dirty and sweaty? When she had dressed to meet GoldenGlove at Shae’s that first time (or even when she had dressed for Loras’s party where she’d hoped to see Jaime), it felt like there was way less pressure.

She tries on three different outfits, doing her best to take full-length photos off them that she can send to Margaery. The first two are immediately dismissed with a respective “no, ew” and “suburban mom.” The third receives a long string of emojis.

> **Margaery:** ✨🤤🔥🤯⚠️🥵🙌💥

She looks at herself again, smoothing down her white, sleeveless top. It’s made of a sort of woven material with a high neck and a rounded hem. On the bottom she wears a pair of loose blue pants that are tight near the ankles and a pair of leather sandals. The days have gotten warmer in Kings Landing and Brienne probably doesn’t need a sweater but she grabs one just in case—a beige, oversized men’s cardigan that had belonged to her dad. Throwing her bag across her body, she heads out the door.

The sky is still overcast but it’s not supposed to rain so she decides to walk the 20 blocks to the Park of the Seven. The journey gives her some measure of calm. She’s a brisk walker and feeling the city rush by helps to quell her anxiety. There’s only one small moment where she catches a bad reflection of herself and feels a surge of panic. It was the kind of reflection that anyone might see—sun catching her at a weird angle, mirrored on a unevenly curved surface. But for whatever reason, for the briefest moment, she has the thought that this could all be a trick.

She immediately hurries to bury the idea back in the past where it belongs, but it takes her a solid seven blocks to remind herself that this is a good thing. That this is what she signed up fo. She wants to be doing this. 

Brienne arrives at the park a little early. She takes a circuitous route past Warrior Monument, through the Plaza of the Stranger, and by the Smith’s Circle. When she gets to the Crone’s Gardens she pulls out her phone and checks the time: four forty-two. She makes her way to where the dahlias are planted in a secluded corner of the gardens. 

There aren’t any benches in that area, though, so Brienne is forced to stand awkwardly and just wait for Jaime—or GoldenGlove—to show up. She has to keep reminding herself that it isn’t a certainty that it will be her handsome rival coach who joins her in ( _she_ _checks her watch_ ) eleven minutes. Each person that passes nearby causes Brienne to go on alert. A sweet older couple strolls by, saying a kind hello. A pretty woman walks through the space, chatting animatedly into her phone about a bookstore closing. Brienne hears someone calling out after a dog that bounds into the gardens. The man rounds the corner, into her line of sight, but he continues after the dog without a cursory glance in her direction.

Brienne doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She keeps shifting positions—wringing them behind her back, clutching them in front of her. Hands in pockets. Hands on hips. She feels so exposed, all six feet, three inches of her, just self-conscious standing in a garden. She pulls out her phone. It’s four fifty-three. There’s a text from Asha that just says “text me later—I hope much later!”

The sky is looking a little more ominous than it did before and the usually-ever-prepared Brienne chastises herself for not bringing an umbrella. A couple more people walk by, causing Brienne to perk up each time.  _ Four fifty-eight.  _ The sun is almost entirely gone—casting everything with a slightly eerie yellow glow. 

At exactly four fifty nine, an entirely uneasy-looking Jaime appears at the far end of the rows of flowers, before the cosmos give way to the zinnias. Brienne is immediately overwhelmed. She shouldn’t be surprised—she  _ isn’t _ surprised—but at the same time, she still can’t believe it. He looks like a prince from a kids’ movie. His hair is combed and he’s got on a plaid shirt and jeans. He’s clutching a large bouquet of flowers, presumably, for her.

Jaime gets closer and they lock eyes. Brienne smiles a little—a lopsided sort of how-is-this-real smile—wrinkling her brow, and silently willing this to be good, for there to be no misunderstandings here. As he approaches, Jaime gives her a tiny shrug, as if he’s saying “welp, yeah, it’s me.” The sheepishness stays with him as he makes his way to her across the field of flowers. 

When he’s within a couple of feet, Brienne cracks. The tears that she was trying to keep at bay spring to her eyes and she swipes at them, embarrassed of her childish response. 

“Oh! Shit. Don’t cry, Brienne. Please don’t cry.”

“If you say  _ ‘there’s no crying in baseball.’ _ I’ll coldcock you.“

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Happy tears, though, right? You’re glad it’s me? Cause you gotta give me the signs here.” 

“Yes, Jaime. I’m glad it’s you. I wanted it to be you.” She smiles and huffs out a tiny laugh at the look of relief on his face. “I wanted it to be you so badly.”

Just as Jaime’s seems about to reach for her face, the sky opens up and it starts to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all (mainly the worldunseen) like the parallels to the movie but also the way it diverged. I'm ending this chapter kind of where the movie ends, which I think is a little too soon.
> 
> Some reference images:  
> [B's outfit inspo](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/dd/c8/0d/ddc80d1089c4459952cdd7c75ceee952.jpg)  
> [Cersei's Womb chairs](https://www.smow.com/pics/kn-020-000/knoll-intl-womb-chair-vars-hopsak-rot-01_zoom.jpg)
> 
> Thanks to all that helped with this chapter! One to go!


	9. A Whole New Ballgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses and roaming hands, declarations, and baseball games. It had to end sometime, friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upped the rating to Mature. I wasn't sure I'd get here but I did.

“Oh! Shit—here!” Jaime exclaims, grabbing Brienne by the waist and dragging her under a large tree. It blocks  _ most _ of the rain, for now, anyway.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” he asks hopefully.  _ That seems like a Brienne kind of thing _ , he thinks.  _ Always be prepared!  _ He most definitely did  _ not _ bring an umbrella. 

“No, uncharacteristically, I did not.” She shivers slightly and goes to put on a sweater that she’d been holding. Her white shirt is starting to soak through but her sweater obscures anything salacious. Jaime blinks away his disappointment. 

“So. Hi,” he says, straightening himself. Starting over. “Fancy meeting you here.” She gives him a vaguely annoyed look that he knows is actually fond. He’s learned some of her tells. “Wait a minute. Why don’t you seem surprised to see me?”

“I figured it out a couple of weeks ago.” 

“And you still came?” 

“Of course I came. I think even before I knew the truth, I maybe hoped it was you.” She seems nervous but she doesn’t look away. 

“Really?” He doesn’t mean to sound so diffident, but he can’t help it. It’s like everything is clicking together and it feels too good to be true.

“Really,” she assures. “I know we started out a bit...contentious—in real life—but I guess you’re sort of charming and somewhat handsome. And, well, you’re hilarious and really, really good with the kids. You have been such a good friend to me, both as GoldenGlove  _ and _ as Jaime Lannister. I— I’m not really sure what life here would look like without you in it.” Brienne pauses and purses her lips—she’s got tears shining in her eyes but they don’t spill over. “I— I don’t really want to find out. When I started to think that you were who I was talking to online, I never once regretted it. I was only worried you would. But I figured you had to know. Because you were there that night at Shae’s, right? You came to meet me?”

“Uh huh. When I saw that it was you, I panicked. I was just so sure you hated me.”

“No,  _ you _ hated  _ me _ ,” she corrects, looking at him like he’s a crazy man who doesn’t remember facts.

“I didn’t,” he says. And then off her look, "I  _ didn’t. _ That’s why I didn’t say anything. I knew you liked me on Twitter so I thought maybe I could get you to like me in real life, too. Me as me.”

“What’s with all the dahlias?” she asks, changing directions. She gestures first to the bouquet he’s still holding, then she sweeps her arms out wide to include the huge and colorful flowers blooming all around them.

“Oh, yeah, I guess it’s a bit of an overkill, huh? I remember you buying them at the market that one day I saw you with Renly. I had to scroll through pages of search results to figure out what they were called.” He can’t stop smiling.  _ I must look like a loon,  _ he thinks.

“You remember that? From the market?”

Jaime leans in and sort of half whispers in her ear. “I remember everything.” 

He is so close that he can feel Brienne take a huge breath in. It hisses out violently through her teeth. He pulls back to look at her, and before he can even think how breathtaking  _ she _ is, Brienne’s lips are on his. It takes him just a second to get over his shock before he’s kissing her back. 

The first time Jaime and Brienne kiss it’s raining. They are wet and cold and standing in the damp grass of a public park. Later, whenever it comes up, Brienne mentions their soaking wet clothes, the giggling teenagers, the sound of firetrucks racing by, and the wormy smell of dirt. Jaime doesn’t remember any of that. He remembers the heat from her lips. The feeling of her body where he grasps her to him—softer than he imagined. The way she smells like lemons. The soft, barely-there sounds of pleasure she makes when he slides his tongue across her lips. Her breath, humid in his ear when she says, “Let’s go somewhere dry and get some mediocre hot chocolate.”  


-

Jaime walks around in a stupor for days, smiling uncontrollably, and being extra nice to everyone. At work on Monday he can hear the whispers of people wondering “what the hell has gotten into Lannister?” Apparently him saying something as banal as “I hope you have a really great day,” is so out of character that people start freaking out about possible downsizing or restructuring at Lannister Corp. 

He and Brienne text now—no need for Twitter. He texts her at 8:12am. “Good morning!” He texts her at 8:13: “Miss you!” At 8:15 he texts “What are you wearing?  😉 ” And then “Why aren’t you answering?” “I’m at work, where are you?” “Text me back when you get this!” and so forth.

At 8:34am Brienne texts back.

> **Brienne:** Gods, Jaime. I was out for a run.
> 
> **Jaime:** Okay, sure.
> 
> **Brienne:** Jaime, I had 31 unread messages from you in the span of 22 minutes. 
> 
> **Jaime:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I don’t see the problem. 

At practice on Tuesday, they see each other for the first time since Jaime walked Brienne home in the rain, kissing her again outside her building. She’s already at the ballpark when he gets there, setting up for her team on the field next to his. He drops his gear and walks over to her.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

Brienne seems like she doesn’t know what to do. How to act. Jaime, for his part, just wants to throw himself at her. Wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her, long and deep. Maybe grab her ass, which, in those leggings, looks entirely  _ too _ grabbable. Of course, they are out in public, surrounded by school-aged children, and haven’t even had an official date yet. So he thinks he probably should do or say something else.

“Nice day out. It’s warm but not too hot. And sunny!”  _ Ugh, not that, you fool. _

“The weather? You’re talking about the weather?” She laughs and smiles at him so affectionately that he feels like he might burst. He’s just about to say something else when he realizes something over his shoulder has caught Brienne’s attention. 

“Hey, guys,” Addam calls out as he approaches. “What’s up? Nice day out, huh?”

Brienne bursts out laughing. A huge giant cackling laugh. Jaime puts his hands on his hips, pretending to be irritated. 

“What’d I say?” Addam looks so genuinely confused that Jaime starts laughing, too.

“Come on, buddy, let’s go play ball.” 

With a wink at Brienne, he steers his assistant coach back to their field. But Jaime is useless for the next hour. He’s so distracted by Brienne leading her own practice, he’s barely there. At one point he gets hit by the ball while he’s watching her. She’s illustrating an overhand throw for one of the kids and the muscles in her arm seem to hypnotize him.

After practice, Breienne is waiting for him by his car. She’s leaning on the hood in a way that makes him have to look away.

“So that was awkward,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.

“What was? My informing you of the plainly observable fact that it’s sunny outside? It  _ is  _ sunny,” he counters, his eyes laughing. 

“I saw you get beaned.”

“You want to help? Wear looser clothing to practice. But seriously, we’ll figure this out—the whole interacting with each other out in the world, now that we’re...together...thing?” he says hopefully.

“Yeah. We’ll take it as it comes,” she says, nodding, gears obviously turning in her head, running uncertain scenarios. After a beat, she locks eyes with him and adds a reassuring, “Together.”

When Jaime finally gets into his car, after a quick kiss they hope no one sees, he has a text waiting for him from his brother.

> **Tyrion:** Addam says you were being extra weird during practice. He said weirder than you usually are. Says Brienne was weird, too. Why are you both being weird?
> 
> **Jaime:** I’m normally weird? Like, my default is weird?
> 
> **Tyrion:** Don’t try to change the subject.
> 
> **Jaime:** How am I changing the subject? You said weird like a hundred and fifty times in your text. 
> 
> **Tyrion:** I’m watching you.

-

The Lions have a bye week and their next game is against their biggest competition, the Sand Snakes. It would be an important win because it could determine the league title. The day is hot, even for the end of May, and Jaime shields his eyes against the sun to look across the field at his...girlfriend?  _ Definitely girlfriend, _ he thinks, making a mental note to confirm this in the very near future. Brienne is sitting in the stands and when he waves wildly, she buries her face in her hands.

At the pre-game meeting, Oberyn immediately tries to get under Jaime’s skin.

“Your assistant coach isn’t as good looking as last time, Lannister. Don’t tell me that you already managed to muck that up.”

“Who says the word ‘muck’?” Jaime shoots back. Oberyn gives off an air of someone who’s clearly going to be a pain in the ass for the rest of the day. Jaime grabs Addam’s arm and drags him back to their team.

“And, hey! I’m pretty!” Addam shouts over his shoulder.

The kids hustle harder than they have all season. In the top of the third, Damon steals second. In the bottom of the fourth Genna books across right field to catch a pop fly to close out the inning. In the fifth, a base hit from Tommen brings a runner home and pulls the Lions ahead for the first time all game. 

Jaime is visibly distracted and Addam keeps doing things like snapping his fingers in front of Jaime’s face. Jaime misses Myrcella crossing home plate in the sixth because he’s too busy watching Oberyn talk to Brienne through the first base fence. She’s sitting with Tyrion and Tysha and even from the dugout Jaime can tell that she’s smiling and blushing.

They are in the bottom of the sixth. The Lions are up by one and the Sand Snakes have two outs. Tristane Martell steps to the plate. He hits a powerful grounder just to the right of the pitcher's mound. Tytos scoops it up and hurls it to first. Tristane is out by a couple of strides and the Lions win the game.

After everything wraps, and most of the players and fans have moved on, Jaime heads over to Brienne, who is waiting by the bleachers. Just as he gets to her, Oberyn swings by behind them and calls out. 

“Brienne, love—don’t forget what I said. If you’re interested, get my number from Margaery. I’ll clear my schedule.” With a wink and a shit-eating grin, he’s gone.

When Jaime looks at her, questioning, Brienne’s head is down. “What was that about?! Did he proposition you?”  _ Keep it cool, Jaime. _

“Us.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Us,” she repeats, raising her face to meet his eyes. “He propositioned  _ us _ . Said if we were interested in meeting him after the game...“ Her face flames red and Jaime wants to burst out laughing. 

“Well?” he teases.

“Stop.” Her annoyed face is possibly his favorite face.

“Okay, then I guess it’s just you and me, Coach. What do you want to do?”

“I’m easy. We could just stay in and watch a movie.” 

“We don’t have a very good track record of finishing movies and now you’re talking about being easy?” 

Brienne shoves him. Hard.

But it’s true. They’ve tried to watch movies together before.  _ Tried _ being the operative word. Twice. It all starts off innocently enough. Jaime makes his special popcorn (it just has a shit-ton of butter on it), they grab a couple of beers, and snuggle down under his favorite blanket. 

But eventually one of them will scooch a little closer or start rubbing their foot along the other one’s calf. A hand might meet a thigh or a forearm may be brushed by errant fingertips. Something triggers it and it’s all over—movie abandoned. They start kissing and keep kissing, with increasing intensity and decreasing clothing. 

That night it’s a whisper that sets it off. On screen the heroic knight charges a dragon—he’s on horseback and headed straight for the beast. Jaime leans into Brienne and whispers “I love this part.” His words bounce hot off her skin and his lips brush the shell of her ear. The way she shivers makes him feel insane. He kisses her, right there on her neck. She huffs out a held breath and her head turns toward him. Her eyes look almost black in this light and the heat Jaime sees in them makes his stomach clench. 

He launches himself at her, toppling her over onto the couch. Brienne laughs and pulls him down to her. Limbs tangle, kisses move from mouths to jaws to necks. Hands slide under clothing before removing it. They are moving faster and going further than last time. Jaime doesn’t know what’s driving it but he doesn’t remotely try to stop it.

He pushes himself down Brienne’s body, hooking his fingers into her underwear. He looks up at her, checking to see that they’re on the same page. She nods and bites her lower lip. Jaime fights a growl and slides the last of her clothing down her pale, neverending legs. Her skin glows in the light of the television set.

The first time Jaime and Brienne sleep together it’s while the third movie in the Arthur Dayne trilogy flickers away, forgotten. 

  
  


————————————————

  
  


The next day, Brienne wakes at Jaime’s. He’s still sleeping when she rouses and she wants to cry, she’s so happy. Sex has never been, for her, anything like it was with Jaime last night. In the past it’s felt like going through the motions for the tiniest scraps of pleasure. It was trying to find comfort in someone else’s touch and trying to be satisfied by making  _ them _ feel good. Last night was different. Last night was all pleasure. About her as much as him. 

Brienne is probably blushing, now, remembering how she cried out when she came. She hurries and escapes to the bathroom to pee. When she returns, she finds Jaime stirring.

“Hey.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face to wake up. 

“Good morning. I just went to the bathroom, but then I was going to go make breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Mmm, come here.” His voice is thick. His hair is sleep-mussed and she wants to touch it, so she does. She runs her hands across his bare chest because she can. He pulls her down into a kiss and food is forgotten. 

When they eventually make it down to the kitchen, Brienne prepares breakfast while Jaime makes coffee. Over eggs and toast, they decide to try out the batting cages that they never made it to. Brienne is eager to blow off some steam. Despite the excitement of their new relationship, they still have a season to finish out and Brienne’s team could be on the chopping block.

She heads home to shower and change and in the early afternoon, Jaime comes to pick her up for their date. He waits for her in the lobby of her apartment building and she finds him lounging in one of those knock-off Barcelona chairs that can be found in almost every modern waiting area. He’s wearing head to toe gray sweats and somehow instead of looking dull he looks desirable. His pants are so tight that it’s criminal. It takes every bit of Brienne’s willpower not to stare. He gives her a brief embrace and he smells irresistible—like cardamom, wood and leather. 

Jaime had been right—the batting cages are incredibly nice. There’s a large, open game room with pool tables, bocce, foosball and other parlor games all arranged around a large central bar. The batting cages are off to one side and can be viewed from the main bar area. The whole place has a retro sports theme—vintage wood benches, leather stadium seats, and pennants. It makes it feel more like a fancy racquet club than, say, a kids’ arcade or something. The cage Jaime’s reserved is tucked away at the back and there’s a giant screen at the end of it. Batters can choose a specific pitcher from the majors and he or she appears on the screen. Pitch speed is selected and the ball shoots out of a hole where the two dimensional player’s pitching arm ends. It’s wild.

Jaime goes first. He’s batting left-handed. His stance is wide and his grip is high and close to his body. He starts the pitches at 80mph and is able to hit most of them. He seems to generate a decent amount of power through his legs, but his hits are inconsistent. Brienne watches his body push and pull. The muscles in his arms and back, taut his body straining against his clothes. It’s fairly obscene. 

Then it’s Brienne’s turn to step to the plate. The heft of the bat in her hand, outside of an instructional setting, almost makes her tear up. She can feel her whole body awaken, muscles she hasn’t used in ages springing into action. She sets the pitcher to Visenya Targaryen, has her hurl 70mph pitches at her, and for the next couple of minutes that’s all there is. The thrum of her heart beating, the impact from the ball, Jaime’s small cheers, the whooshing sound of the next ball hurtling at her.

When she finishes hitting her round of balls, Jaime hands her a bottle of water. 

“This is fun,” she says between gulps. 

“It is. You look so natural swinging the bat. It’s...sexy,” he says, watching her closely. 

“Thanks,” she manages, dropping her head to hide her flaming face. She taps the bat against the inside arches of her feet. “Do you want to go again?”

“Yeah, but I think I need some pointers. I’m still struggling batting left-handed. Look—this feels off.” Jaime resumes his stance over the plate and takes a practice swing. Brienne can tell that he’s off balance.

“I think you’re balanced too far forward before your kick,” Brienne explains. “I think it’s messing up your load.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at her like she’s mad. “There’s something wrong with my messy load?”

“I’m going to kill you. You want help or not?”

“Tell me what to do, then,” he says, laughing.

“I think maybe your kick needs to be a little higher. And over rotate your right hand just a touch.”

“Like this?” he asks, taking another swing.

“No, here, I’ll show you.” 

Brienne moves to stand behind Jaime. 

She reaches around his body, her arms running parallel to his. Her body is pressed against his broad back—the heat of him making her flush. She places her right hand over his to adjust his grip slightly. She puts her left one above, higher on the bat and tips it just a touch. She removes her hands from the bat and places them on his hips. She can feel him suck in a deep breath. She pushes on his hips to shift his weight off of his front leg just a little. She tries to keep her head clear.  _ Focus, Brienne. _

She slides her right hand down his hip and around the back of his leg. She uses her hand to lift it—to show him how much higher to kick before his swing. Jaime’s hamstring is stretched tight under her fingers, splayed across the back of his thigh. 

“Brienne…” Jaime starts—more air than sound.

“Take a swing,” she says, using her entire body to guide his.

On his follow-through, Jaime makes a slightly strangled sound and lowers the bat. He turns his head and her mouth finds his. They are still sort of wrapped up in the stance at first, the top half of Jaime’s body rotating to meet her. She moves her hand from his leg to the back of his head, raking her nails in his hair and deepening the kiss. The bat clatters to the ground, surely drawing the eyes of other patrons but Brienne doesn’t notice. Jaime spins around and grabs  _ her _ hips, pulling her to him. She gasps just a touch and he laughs and pushes her toward the wall. Their tongues meet and his hands make their way up to the gap of exposed skin she has between her leggings and top. It’s a couple of minutes before Brienne has enough brain cells gathered to remember they are in public. 

“Jaime, I— we’re— ,” she stutters, breaking the kiss.

“Sure, yes, right,” he pants, regaining his breath.

Brienne backs away, and Jaime hits another round, doing his best to incorporate Brienne’s feedback. Brienne goes for another set, too, but her mind really isn’t in the game at all.

\- 

The Bears' last game of the regular season is a week later and it is unnervingly close. They are playing Craster’s Kids and both teams are working their asses off since it’s down to this. Whichever team loses is going to be disbanded. Brienne is nervous as hell and having to work really hard to control her emotions for the kids. It helps that Jaime is in the stands cheering like it’s his own team playing.

The game starts out a little slow with no runs scored during the entire first inning. In the bottom of the second, Gendry hits a line drive down the first base line. It soars just out of reach of the first baseman and Bran and Arya make it home, with Lyanna stopping at third. But Craster’s Kids score a couple of runs in the next inning when Robin misses a fly ball hit deep into left field, tying up the game.

Returning to the dugout, Brienne thanks the gods for Davos. He’s like a rock when she feels like she’s a receding tide. Her skin feels prickly with nerves. And she’s having to take giant calming breaths every couple of minutes to keep her heart from racing too badly. Jaime must see it or sense it because he approaches her between the innings. 

“Hey, are you okay? You got this. The kids are playing great.” His voice helps. The little crinkles at the corners of his eyes help.

In the top of the fourth inning, Sansa and Pod make a spectacular double play, keeping Craster’s Kids from scoring. The Bears bring in a single run in the fifth, but the next inning, so does the opposing team. Finally, a simple base hit by Shireen in the sixth brings a runner in—securing the team's win and future. 

The crowd goes wild. No one looks more proud than Davos hoisting his step daughter up on his shoulders. Well, no one except for maybe Jaime, who is on his feet shouting unreservedly. The team is ecstatic, all over the place, jumping up and down. Brienne chokes out a small sob before controlling herself.

After the game, she insists that she needs to go out for pizza with her team to celebrate and Jaime tags along. Cat is over the moon that “the team was saved!” Ned shakes her hand but otherwise says nothing. 

During the post-pizza ice cream sundaes, Brienne notices that Jaime has been on his phone a lot tonight. She wonders about it but doesn’t ask, assuming that it’s probably work-related. It’s not and she doesn’t have to wonder for long, as Jaime drives them to The Blackwater after dinner. He has gathered a small crew of their friends and fellow coaches for an impromptu celebration of the end of the season.

There’s beers and shots and some special drink that Bronn invented called The Blue Coach. There are darts and pool, and Margaery gets a round of karaoke going in the back room. Jaime belts out a rendition of The Power of Love by Huey Lewis & the News. It’s off-key and terrible but he looks like he’s having the best time ever. Brienne’s face hurts from smiling so much. 

And there is a toast. Jaime wolf-whistles to get the room's attention and hops up on a wobbly stool in lieu of a stage and podium. 

“I’d like to make a toast. To all the coaches here, great season. To our friends and family, thank you for the support. But the person I’d most like to toast is Coach Brienne Tarth of the Blackwater Bears.”

_ Oh, no. Please, Jaime. _

“Coach Tarth took a flailing team and built it from the ground up. She took kids who knew nothing about baseball and taught them how to play the game. She took kids whose parents were making them play and helped them learn about teamwork and friendship. She took a handful of great athletes and nurtured their skills and their passion, helping them take their game to the next level.”

Jaime looks around the room as he delivers this speech, as any good speaker would, but he keeps coming back to her. She’s overwhelmed with emotion and is doing her best to keep it under control, but the way Jaime looks at her with such earnest pride just about breaks her.

“She did  _ all _ of this with love, honor, and the necessary sense of humor. I’m so lucky to have been there to see it all up close and to get to know this entirely singular woman. To this year’s Blackwater Bears team,  _ next _ year’s Bears, and Brienne. Congratulations.”

He raises his glass, smile radiant. He gracefully hops down and immediately sweeps her up in a hug. 

“Congratulations,” he repeats and kisses her on the cheek.

A while later, they settle down in a booth to chat with Tyrion and Tysha. Brienne is listening—she swears she is—but for some reason she can’t understand anything anyone is saying. For a minute she thinks it’s the alcohol, but she hasn’t had that much to drink. She finally realizes that it’s because Jaime is touching her hand under the table. All of her thoughts are focused there and all of her blood is rushing elsewhere. Because he’s not just holding her hand. He’s touching it. It starts with him running fingers lightly along the bones on the back of her hand, which is resting on her thigh. He flips it over so that he can brush his thumb across first her wrist and then her palm. Then he’s stroking down her fingers, feather-soft, one after another. He seems to be doing it mindlessly, but for some reason it feels indecent.  _ Erotic,  _ she thinks, blushing and worried that her friends can sense her shift in mood.

When Jaime moves his hand to trail his nails up the inside of her forearm, she can’t take it anymore. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and Jaime notices. 

“Everything alright?” he asks, all faux innocence. She narrows her eyes at him.

Tyrion and Tysha are having a disagreement over what time they told the babysitter they’d be home, so Brienne takes the opportunity to lean into Jaime and whisper, “We need to get out of here.” 

“Say no more.” He swipes his tongue across his lower lip and Brienne nearly screams. “I’ll talk to Margaery and let her know we’re leaving. Grab our stuff and I’ll meet you outside.”

It takes her longer than she’d like to make it out the doors. Asha corners her to wring out as many tawdry details as she can about her physical relationship with Jaime but Brienne reveals nothing. She eventually finds him anxiously waiting at the curb. Her apartment is closer to The Blackwater than Jaime’s, but it’s still a cab ride away. Squished together in the cramped backseat of a yellow cab, Jaime keeps trying to run his hand up and under the hem of Brienne’s jersey but she bats it away every time. 

Finally alone in her apartment, they’re able to celebrate in their own way.

\- 

After privately celebrating for most of the night, Brienne and Jaime sleep in. When they wake, they eat giant bowls of cereal overlooking the Bay. She can’t believe the season is over. She’s got about two months with nothing much to do before her high school girls start practicing. Nothing except manage her Twitter account. Over their second cups of coffee, Brienne pulls out her laptop. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, watching her across the small cafe table.

“I need to get some stuff uploaded to SapphireSlugger. There’s this young woman from the Reach that has a 72mph fastpitch. I have to put together a package for Twitter.”

“Sorry, whose package did you see on Twitter? I told Addam to stop posting that shit.”

“Hilarious,” she deadpans.

“No, but for real--I zoned out looking at your collarbone. What are you talking about?”

She looks at him, trying to fight a smile. “I have to do some work.”

“Right now? Who will play with me? Pay attention to me?” He’s joking but she knows he’s also a little serious.

“Just give me half an hour,” she says, knowing it will take at least two times that long. “Play a game on your phone.”

She just needs Jaime to get sucked into Candy Crush or Angry Birds or whatever kids are playing these days--then she’ll be able to get her stuff uploaded. She pulls up Twitter to start her intro thread about the young female pitcher when her notifications ding. She preemptively glowers at him over the screen of her laptop.

**GoldenGlove79  
** Hey, sexy.  
June 13, 2020, 10:07 AM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Oh, my god. Why are you so annoying?  
I’m trying to work.  
June 13, 2020, 10:08 AM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Stop working. Let’s get naked.   
June 13, 2020, 10:08 AM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Very nice, Jaime.  
June 13, 2020, 10:09 AM

**GoldenGlove79  
** What? It’s romantic!  
June 13, 2020, 10:10 AM

**SapphireSlugger  
** Really? What do you know about romance?  
You fall for lines like “let’s lay on the couch  
and watch videos together.”  
June 13, 2020, 10:11 AM

**GoldenGlove79  
** Well, the “forever” was implied.  
June 13, 2020, 10:12 AM

**SapphireSlugger  
** What do you mean ‘forever?’  
June 13, 2020, 10:13 AM

**GoldenGlove79  
** “Let’s lay on the couch and watch videos  
together...forever.”  
June 13, 2020, 10:14 AM

**SapphireSlugger  
** That is not what I said.  
June 13, 2020, 10:14 AM   
  
**GoldenGlove79  
** Whatever you say, Coach. Whatever you say.  
June 13, 2020, 10:15 AM   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some random links you may be interested in, possibly not in chronological order:**  
> ["I remember everything"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Xc3NPs4f_o) is a nod to Pacey x Joey  
> [This is a Barcelona chair](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barcelona_chair)  
> For the batting cage date, Jaime was wearing something like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/46/08/42/46084259399cf2b1ace739465249190f.jpg) or [this](https://static.zara.net/photos///2020/V/0/2/p/4087/401/803/2/w/1722/4087401803_1_1_1.jpg?ts=1579633495237) or [this but gray](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/08/da/38/08da381b729a1010f8831a9de50bbd27.jpg)  
> Brienne wore [these leggings](https://target.scene7.com/is/image/Target/GUEST_2b858291-4c56-45d5-99bf-195da848017a) and [this top](https://media1.popsugar-assets.com/files/thumbor/IdjlA1UbOBkHR08kAXuwvv1Exc4/fit-in/2048xorig/filters:format_auto-!!-:strip_icc-!!-/2017/10/26/065/n/1922729/58b64573df05956e_netimgBLi9IO/i/JoyLab-Women-Sleeveless-Layering-Hoodie.jpg) but in a color that matches the leggings (you pick!)  
> Jaime was wearing [Santal 33 by Le Labo](https://www.lelabofragrances.com/santal-33-147.html) because he's a basic bitch  
> I imagined the batting cages like a mix between something like [Hits 400](https://www.google.com/search?q=hits+400+plano+tx&sxsrf=ALeKk03T3TsM49m_WRDyYqQ7iH1R370nrg:1597980631057&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiVxfzeravrAhXGGs0KHSK_CmAQ_AUoAHoECBgQCA&biw=1434&bih=713) and [the Chicago Athletic Association's Game Room](https://www.google.com/search?q=caa+game+room&sxsrf=ALeKk02PdWPehsQB_jiad909226x7MqO4w:1597977924764&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjL3MHUo6vrAhVIQ80KHXepDFcQ_AUoAnoECB0QBA&biw=1434&bih=713)  
> Lastly, in case you somehow don't know [Power of Love by Huey Lewis & the News](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCkgYhtz64U)
> 
> \-------------------
> 
> I plan to go back after the author reveal and edit the notes to add some extra context and acknowledgements. I have some cut scenes and other things that might make it on to Tumblr at some point. 
> 
> \-------------------
> 
> Lastly, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's been reading along while this has been a WIP. Your awesome comments and patience were a gift! Thanks especially to **theworldunseen** for the great prompts. I truly hope you love this.


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